


Soldier, Poet, King

by nerdytf84fan



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Canonical Character Death, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Pre-Canon, Young Arthur Morgan, Young John Marston, and other canon relationships, brief mentions of past abuse, essentially, mostly Hosea being the best cowboy dad, some hinted vandermatthews, takes place before the events of rdr2, the misadventures of the Van der Linde gang
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-26
Updated: 2021-01-03
Packaged: 2021-01-03 20:23:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 33
Words: 163,366
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21185474
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nerdytf84fan/pseuds/nerdytf84fan
Summary: Dutch has become caught up in his outlandish plans once again, which is nothing new to Hosea. Except for this time, it involves an unruly teen.And Hosea is not happy.Although, he'll soon discover that maybe the boy isn't all that he seems.





	1. Plans

Dutch had finally lost his mind.

Had absolutely, positively, _ lost it _.

Of this Hosea was convinced, and there wasn't any explanation Dutch could give to dissuade him from thinking such. He had been riding with the younger gentleman for a few years by now, and he knew enough about his tendencies to find most of his outlandish plans unsurprising, even predictable at times. But taking in an unruly _ teenager? _ Hosea didn't see the point. The boy had ‘pain-in-the-ass’ written all over him. They'd stumbled upon the misfortune of encountering the delinquent when the boy had tried and failed at pickpocketing them. Dutch was asking for trouble by taking him under his wing, and while the gangly teen shook like a leaf and had apologized profusely when they'd caught him, Hosea didn't trust him one bit. He never had a heart for children, let alone adolescents, and he was determined to keep a skeptical eye on the boy as Dutch got swept away by his daydreams of raising ‘the finest outlaw in the land'. 

The boy's name, they discovered, was Arthur Morgan. Hosea's leery gaze wasn't lost on him, and his watchful eye only aggravated his skittishness. When asked questions, his answers were nothing but a stuttering mess of words thrown together. The teen also fidgeted with anything and everything he could get his hands on, whether it was the sleeves of his ragged shirt, the fraying ends of his shirttails, or his gambler hat that was too big for him.

They had only made it halfway to their actual camp when they decided to make a temporary one. It was well past sunset, and they were all tired from their eventful day. Once they’d gotten a fire going, Dutch gave Arthur a shirt he had bought near Lafayette. Arthur had been dumbstruck by the gesture, his eyes flicking nervously between Dutch's encouraging smile and Hosea's frown before finally swapping his old worn-out shirt for the new one. 

Neither of them had failed to notice the way his ribs stuck out as he pulled the shirt over his head, but it was Dutch who decided to give him most of the premium seasoned beef they had bought earlier that day.

While Dutch stroked his ego over his charitable deeds, Hosea disapproved. He thought it was wasteful. They had plenty of other food, and the shirt hadn’t been cheap. Hosea was also certain that the boy was more than capable to make his keep and buy himself a new button-up. Yet he kept his mouth shut. There would be a time and a place for him to talk some sense into Dutch, but now wasn’t the time, not while the man was still riding the high of seeing his plans in motion. 

It was a lovely summer night, and Hosea thought it was a shame that the ambient choir of crickets and the crackling of the fire were overshadowed by Arthur’s presence. He clenched and unclenched his fists, his indignation growing by the second. When the building pressure of holding back the words he wanted to say became too much, Hosea curtly excused himself to put some distance between him and the campfire. He had started to light the end of a cigarette when he heard Dutch’s unmistakable footsteps drawing nearer. Breathing out a smoky sigh, he braced for the conversation that was to come. He knew why Dutch had made his way over, and as the man began his drawn-out attempt to convince him, Hosea cut him off short. There was no way in hell Hosea was going to share his bedroll or their tent. If Dutch wanted to give his bedroll away, that was on him. But Hosea refused to insofar as share their tent with the brat, and he had no qualms convincing Dutch that the boy was perfectly fine sleeping outside.

"He's been an orphan for what? Four years? Another night sleeping outside isn't going to kill him, Dutch!"

"Hosea, the poor boy—”

"If you want to share your bedroll with him, suit yourself, but you’re going to do it _ outside _. I'm not about to give our tent away to him!"

Dutch sighed and massaged the bridge of his nose before looking over his shoulder at Arthur. He was sitting by the fire with his legs hugged tight to his chest, and the man felt his heart ache at the sight before his eyes flitted back to Hosea. The man’s gaze was like ice, and he was thankful that it rested on the grassy plain instead of him. "Listen, I know you ain't fond of kids, but _ look at him. _"

"I see him just fine,"

"He needs us, needs _ you _,"

"That's bullshit and you know it,"

"Would you just trust me?" Dutch pleaded as he turned Hosea by his shoulder so he could look him in the eyes. "I know what I'm doing."

He studied him, his lips pressed together in a thin line as his gaze shifted to Arthur. “He’s going to be nothing but trouble.”

“And that’s why he needs us! He needs a few quick-witted, clever heads guiding him.”

Hosea shook his head. He didn’t believe it for a second, but it would be impossible to convince Dutch otherwise, at least not now. The time would come, but in the meantime, Hosea would have to grin and bear it.

The following week was long and agonizing. It was as if Arthur had made it his goal to take every opportunity to test Hosea’s patience. The boy argued and fought against nearly everything he and Dutch told him. Even when Hosea would attempt to give advice that would make his tent more secure or his workload easier, Arthur _ still _ railed against him. It was like fighting a mule. Susan was the only one who seemed to be able to get through to Arthur, and Hosea had no doubt he was defying him and Dutch just for the hell of it. There was no rhyme or reason to the teen’s outbursts. He was full of hot anger when he wasn’t a nervous wreck. It was odd, and while Hosea didn’t care much for the boy, he found the situation a curious thing. 

As time went on, he’d also noticed how jumpy Arthur was, especially when someone or something moved suddenly. He would instantly brace himself, and in most instances, his arms would flinch upwards to shield his face. Hosea had particularly noticed the habit when Susan reached over to fix the boy’s hair that had been left disheveled from a hard day’s work. Arthur had immediately batted her hand away, and he was quick to offer a desperate apology afterward. 

Dutch had been in the middle of reading one of his books when Hosea had finally decided to bring it up. The behavior had been consistent, and there was no indication that it was going to change anytime soon. The boy had no doubt met some nasty people in his lifetime, and while Hosea may have felt the tiniest ounce of pity at the thought, he was more concerned for their own safety.

“Evening, Dutch,”

“Hosea,”

He looked him over as he continued to read before speaking. “Have you ever noticed how jumpy Arthur is?”

Dutch looked up, blinked, then furrowed his brow. “What do you mean?” 

“He’s been through some messed up shit, Dutch. Surely even you can see it on him.”

“And? He’s in good hands now.”

“I’m worried,”

Dutch wrinkled his nose. “Why? I thought you didn’t care about him.”

He ignored the comment. “I’m just concerned he might lash out at one of us like a cornered cat one of these days. He’s only going to get bigger.”

“Well, I would hope so!” He quipped as he flashed him a grin. “That’s how growing up works!”

Hosea simply shook his head and left him to his reading with a deep frown between his brows.

At least he’d tried to warn him.

It was another week later when Hosea had started to notice a concerning trend. Every so often, items would disappear without warning. Once it was a coffee cup Hosea had left by the fire. Another time, it was a tin of biscuits that Susan swore she had set aside for later. It was always little things, and Hosea had finally decided he’d had enough when he noticed a few blank pages had been ripped out of his journal. 

Of course, he knew it was Arthur. All signs pointed to the teen. Dutch and Arthur were the only ones who seemed to be blind to how obvious it was. Hosea had finally reached his limit one day when he was sitting by the fire, sipping his black coffee out of Dutch’s cup they had been sharing, as he studied Arthur from afar. He was hunched over something as he occasionally looked up before looking back down at whatever was in his lap. The longer Hosea watched him, the more he realized he was drawing the treeline. 

He frowned. There wasn’t a doubt in his mind that Arthur was using the paper he’d taken from his journal, and there were a handful of ways he could respond to the situation at hand. Eventually, Hosea simply rose to his feet and rode his horse into town. 

When he came back, he found Arthur chopping wood for the fire. His shirt had become untucked and his brow was glistening with sweat. Over the last two weeks, he’d started to put some muscle on his bones, gradually losing his gangly appearance. Hosea watched him for a moment longer before making his way over towards him, and Arthur nearly jumped out of his skin when he noticed the tall gentleman standing beside him. 

“M-Mr. Matthews! I’m sorry, I didn’t hear you coming!” He stammered. 

He cocked an eyebrow but said nothing of his skittish behavior. “I see you’ve been working hard today.”

“Yessir,”

“Were you asked by Miss Grimshaw to chop some more wood?” 

He hesitated. “Nossir.” 

“She’ll be pleased,” he noted with a grin. “You know, while I was out in town, I found something I thought you might like.” 

Arthur furrowed his brow, thoroughly confused. “You what?” 

He dug into his coat pocket and pulled out a leather journal and a pencil. “You seem like the creative type, so I thought you could use one of these.”

At first, the boy stiffened as his face paled. His blue eyes darted from the journal to Hosea’s eyes before dropping to the ground as he braced himself. It was obvious that the boy feared he’d been caught, although Hosea gave no indication that he knew about his thieving. It was only when he realized Hosea meant no harm that he released the breath he'd been holding.

“I’m afraid I don’t know how to write, sir,”

“You _ what? _” He exclaimed. “You’re kidding me. Can you read?”

He shrugged. “Sorta.”

“Starting tomorrow, that’s going to change, but for now you can use that thing for drawing instead of writing,”

“Thank you, Mr. Matthews,”

“Please, just Hosea is fine. There’s no need to be formal. It makes me feel old when you call me that.”

The corner of his mouth quirked upwards in a small smirk, and it was the closest thing to a smile Hosea had ever seen on his face. 

It was later that day that Hosea mentioned the idea to Dutch, and he was unsurprised by how eager Dutch was to start the boy’s reading lessons. Hosea had planned on starting with simpler books. If they began with literature that was too difficult or complex, they would no doubt kill what desire Arthur had left for reading. 

Yet the next day, Hosea’s peaceful reading was disrupted by the sounds of Dutch and Arthur arguing. By now it was a familiar sound, and with a sigh, he closed his book and ventured over just in time to see Arthur throw one of Dutch’s thick books into the dirt. Its impact with the ground caused a cloud of dust to rise into the air as the two of them held the other’s heated gaze. As Hosea made his way over, Arthur glanced over at him and stormed off without another word towards his tent.

“Care to explain what just happened?” Hosea asked as he studied Dutch.

“I tried educating the boy just as you suggested,” he huffed, “and look what happened!” 

He looked over at Arthur’s tent before his eyes flicked to the book on the ground. It was one of Evelyn Miller’s classics, and he gave Dutch a chastising look. “You had him reading Miller?” 

“Well, I was _ trying _ to before he threw a damn fit!” 

Hosea simply shook his head before taking Silver Dollar for another ride into town to visit the local bookstore.

When he returned, he removed Silver Dollar’s tack and made it a point to stop by Arthur’s tent before doing anything else. He pulled back the edge of a flap only a hair and cleared his throat. “May I come in, Arthur?” 

The only response that sounded behind the canvas was a grunt, and Hosea decided to interpret the disgruntled muttering as permission for him to enter. 

Inside, he found the teen drawing in his journal, a frown still carved between his brows despite the hour that had passed. Hosea sat beside him, leaving about a foot of distance between them, and opened up the book he was holding.

The instant Arthur noticed the book, he swore. “Dammit, Hosea, if I have to read another fucking—”

“Watch the language,” he interrupted evenly, “this book is different, and if you don’t like it after I’ve read you ten chapters, then we’ll call it a day and you have my permission to use the pages for kindling.”

His frown disappeared at that. “You serious?” 

“You have my word,”

“Alright,” he smirked, “I’m game.”

Hosea smiled, cleared his throat, and turned to the first chapter. “_ Treasure Island _, part one, ‘The Old Buccaneer’,” 

It didn’t take long for Arthur to become spellbound by the tale, and Hosea couldn’t help but smile as he read. Where Miller’s writing was repetitive and antiquated, stale and framed by the imitation of eloquence, Stevenson’s was quick to capture Arthur’s interest with the narrative story from a teen's perspective. As Hosea read, his experience as a stage actor came back to him, and in no time, they were both thoroughly enjoying the tale. He had a different voice for most of the characters, making sure to read at a pace that matched the plot. By chapter six, Arthur had scooted closer to follow along, and by the ninth, Arthur had asked if he could try reading a page or two himself with Hosea’s guidance.

Hosea finished the tenth chapter in just over an hour and, with some dramatic flair, abruptly closed the book. Arthur jumped and blinked a few times as the sound snapped him out of his daze. Hosea deliberately took his time to stretch, and as he raised his arms above his head, he couldn't help but note the way Arthur kept his eyes glued on the novel that was still in his grasp. It was almost a struggle to hide his amusement.

“Well, what do you think? Shall we use this book for kindling and cheap cigarettes?” Hosea finally asked.

“No!” Arthur shouted as he reached up and snatched the book out of his hand, desperately trying to find the page they had stopped at. “Can't we read one more chapter? I _ have _ to know what Jim heard!”

“Sure, but it’s your turn to read,” he replied as he stood. “Come on, let’s sit somewhere more comfortable.”

They decided to sit in the two folding chairs by the campfire. Hosea followed along over Arthur’s shoulder as he read, gently correcting him or prompting the right pronunciations as needed. Eventually, Dutch had sauntered over to get a closer look at what must have been an odd sight to behold. The boy was actually reading or at least starting to, and while he was far from fluent, his determination made up for his lack of reading skills. 

Dutch stood beside Hosea, watching both of them with hands on his hips before he finally cleared his throat. "Hosea, may I have a word with you?"

His sudden presence startled Arthur, causing him to drop the book as Hosea furrowed his brow. Yet he wordlessly rose from his seat before following Dutch to their tent. He could tell by the man's stiff posture that something was bothering him, and Hosea had a feeling he already knew what it was.

“I thought you were onto something with teaching that boy how to read, but reading him something as outlandish as _ Treasure Island _? I thought you were better than that!”

“Come on, Dutch, let the boy have at least _ some _ resemblance of a childhood,” he countered.

He shook his head. “You’re gonna rot his brain out with those stories.”

It was a struggle for Hosea to keep what patience he had left. It wasn't uncommon for Dutch to throw strategy out the window when pursuing his goals, but in this particular instance, Hosea found that he'd had enough. Although he wasn't sure why. 

“And you’re going to single-handedly kill what love he has left for reading if you keep shoving Miller down his throat!”

Dutch shot him a fiery look as he lit a cigar and gave it a few puffs. “Since when did you start caring for him? I thought you wanted him gone.”

“I know it’s hard to believe, but maybe I’ve changed my mind. People can do that, you know.” 

Dutch only muttered under his breath in response and dismissed Hosea with a wave of his hand. 

It took till evening for Dutch to finally come around after tending to his bruised ego. Hosea was finishing off what was left of the stew he’d made for the four of them when Dutch approached him. The man exhaled a sigh and took a seat beside him on the log.

“I’m sorry, for earlier, Hosea, I didn’t mean to snap,”

“All is forgiven,” he replied, “although, in hindsight, I could’ve been clearer. I didn’t mean the boy _ shouldn’t _read Miller. It’s just too early for that kind of reading material.”

Dutch chuckled at that. “And you’re right, but you should’ve heard him trying to pronounce some of those words.”

He elbowed him in the ribs as he joined him in his laughter. “That’s awful, Dutch van der Linde!”

“Yet you’re still laughing!”

Hosea shook his head, a grin still pulling at the corner of his mouth. “What am I going to do with you?”

“Oh, there’s a whole lot of things you can do with me, Mr. Matthews,” he breathed out against his neck.

“You’re the worst,” he smirked as he allowed Dutch to drag him away from the fire and into their tent.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Howdy! Thanks for stopping by and I hoped you enjoyed the first chapter of a series of one-shots! I'm not sure how long it'll be, but there'll be at least three chapters. :)
> 
> Also, happy 1-year anniversary rdr2!


	2. Lessons Learned

Hosea had a morning ritual he’d follow nearly every other day of the week. He’d start his morning with a black cup of coffee and watch the brilliant warm colors of the sunrise fade to blue before setting out to either hunt or fish. The routine was cathartic, and soon enough, he noticed that Arthur had started to watch him. At first, Hosea thought nothing of it, and he would greet him before carrying on and riding out to the best hunting or fishing spots he knew. 

The morning he'd noticed a change had started like any other morning. He’d had his fill of coffee, journaled as he watched the sunrise, and then made his way over to Silver Dollar per usual. Hosea stopped in his tracks, however, when he noticed that his steed was already saddled up for his journey. He frowned, wondering at first if he’d forgotten to remove the tack. Hosea scratched his jaw for a moment, searching his memory for answers before eventually giving up and riding out.

Yet, the same thing continued to happen. Each morning he had intended to set out, Silver Dollar was always ready to go. Bridle and bit in place, saddlebags full, guns holstered and loaded, the whole gambit. 

He decided to get up earlier than usual one morning and watched from behind a cluster of trees where he was out of sight. Sure enough, Arthur slowly walked over to Silver Dollar’s side and patted his shoulder before trailing a hand up the stallion’s neck. He then made his way to the front of the horse and rubbed his nose, smiling warmly as he spoke to him in a hushed tone. Hosea continued to watch as Arthur reached into his pocket and fed Silver Dollar a sugar cube.

At least now he knew where their sugar cubes were disappearing to.

Hosea couldn't help but smile at the sight as he straightened himself and walked over to the boy.

"You know, Silver Dollar hardly ever lets anyone touch him,"

Arthur jumped, and his attempt to backpedal was unsuccessful as he tripped over his own feet and landed flat on his rear. "I'm sorry, I was just—”

"Easy, kid, there's nothing to be sorry about. Although, Susan and Dutch have been complaining about the insufficient amount of sugar cubes around."

His eyes dropped to the ground, and Hosea noticed he was bracing himself. "I'm real sorry, I swear I'll buy some more with my own money."

“Don’t worry about it. It’ll be our little secret.” Hosea said as he offered his hand to help Arthur onto his feet, and the boy flinched before hesitantly taking his hand. “Have you ever gone hunting before?”

“Nossir,”

“You ever fire a gun?”

“Yessir,”

Hosea quirked an eyebrow. “Properly?”

He shrugged. 

With a shake of his head, he told Arthur to saddle up his horse. The request surprised Arthur. At first, he stood rooted to the spot, wondering if he’d heard Hosea correctly. It was only after the command was repeated that he scrambled to saddle up Boadicea, a young mare that Hosea had found and given to Arthur. The two of them had bonded instantly and were inseparable, which made every dollar Hosea had spent on the horse worth it. 

They rode out to a nearby hunting spot where Hosea proceeded to explain a little more than just the basics of firing a weapon to him. 

“You and I both know for a fact that this revolver is loaded,” he said as he drew his gun, “but even if we didn’t, it’s important to treat every gun as if it’s loaded. Which means you can’t just point the muzzle wherever you like. You got that?”

Arthur nodded.

“And when you _do _fire a weapon, you need to be accurate. Remember to breathe, then relax. It’s only on the exhale that you pull the trigger. Of course, you won’t always have that luxury, but if you want to have a successful hunt, having the patience to do those three things is important.”

“Will we be using that to hunt?” Arthur asked as he gestured to the revolver.

“Only if we want a poor pelt,” he replied as he holstered his gun and removed his rifle from Silver Dollar’s saddle, “rifles are usually a better option for larger game. Come on, I think I saw some deer tracks over by that tree over there.”

Arthur’s mind spun as he followed Hosea’s lead. There was so much for him to learn. He’d spent most of his life in the city, and while he’d shot someone in the leg before while on the run with his father, he’d never gone hunting before. There hadn’t been a need for it until now. Although he wasn’t sure why Hosea had spontaneously decided to give him a hunting lesson. There were a few reasons came to mind, but he tried to ignore them all. Each revolved around his fear of rejection and inadequacy, and they ranged from the thought that Hosea and Dutch were planning to eventually abandon him to the idea that he wasn’t pulling enough of his weight around camp.

He swallowed and tried harder to retain Hosea’s words, convinced that if he could work hard enough, then maybe Dutch and Hosea would think he was worth keeping around.

Their hunt was successful, earning them a buck large enough to feed the four of them with some to spare. When they returned to camp, Hosea taught him how to gut and clean the animal. Arthur watched with rapt attention and helped when he was instructed to. At first, the sight had made him feel sick, but he forced the feeling to subside. He couldn’t let something that was key to his survival make him feel queasy, especially when he was sure it would eventually ensure his place within their small posse. Arthur wanted to stay, wanted to show that he was loyal, and he decided that hunting would be one of the ways he would be able to prove his worth.

When they finished, Hosea straightened himself and washed off his hands in a small bucket of water. He then picked up the rolled deer pelt and turned to Arthur. “How about we ride into town and see how much we can get for this thing?” 

Arthur hesitated as he gave him a confused look. Usually, it was Dutch who went into town with Hosea, and now he was asking him? However, Arthur didn’t dare to vocalize his question. Instead, he only nodded and mounted Boadicea.

While at the trapper, Arthur silently watched as Hosea haggled with the man for a better price. As he glanced back and forth between the two men, he couldn’t help the small quirk of his lips. He’d only heard of Hosea’s notorious silver tongue, and seeing it in action was amusing. The older gentleman was mostly talking in circles, spinning tales about an ill wife and how he was hardly able to make ends meet between his back injury and his mute son. The story was ridiculous, and yet the rugged gentleman was buying it. It soon became a struggle for Arthur to keep his composure, and Hosea noticed almost immediately. Without breaking character, he barked out an order for him to hitch the horses by the general store down the street instead of hovering around uselessly.

It was all part of the act, but the sudden change in Hosea’s tone, as fabricated as it was, had him scrambling to follow the demand out of habit. 

Hosea felt his heart drop as he realized what he had unintentionally done. While he had a vague idea of what Arthur’s past was like, he had found himself caught up in his role and had forgotten how sensitive the boy could be. He mentally cursed himself for it before returning his attention to the trapper. 

“I’m sorry, it’s been so hard on us both. I didn’t want him having to hear the toll it takes on my heart, soul, and body. He’s only a child, a child trapped in his own mind.”

“I understand,” the man said. “Since you’re in such a tight spot, how about I buy it off you for three dollars.”

“Three dollars?” He repeated. “Surely you could at least do five? Consider it as a donation towards a good cause.”

“I’m sorry, but I ain’t here to support charity cases. Four bucks is as high as I’ll go.”

“Thank you, kind sir,” Hosea said as he exchanged the pelt for cash. “May your kindness be returned to you.” 

He tucked the money into his pocket and walked over to the general store with exaggerated stiffness. The moment he was out of the trapper’s line of sight, he dropped the act, and his strides became long and quick. Hosea hadn’t been able to shake the look of fear he’d seen in Arthur’s eyes nor the guilt that twisted his gut, and for reasons he couldn’t explain, he wanted—_needed _to check on the boy.

He found Arthur by the hitching posts outside the general store just as he had told him, stroking the blaze that ran down Boadicea’s face. His expression was tight, and while it didn’t explicitly give anything away, Hosea could read the teen like an open book. To him, it was clear as day that he was still shaken from the exchange, and he scratched the back of his neck as he pulled out a few extra dollars from his saddlebag. 

“I’m sorry, Arthur. I could’ve handled that a hundred different ways.”

Arthur looked up at him, a deep frown carved between his brows. “You’re sorry?”

Hosea quirked an eyebrow before he realized that the question, as odd as it was, was a valid one. “I am.”

His eyes lowered to his boots, and he was at a loss for words as Hosea gently encouraged him to go into the store with him.

Coffee was the first item on Hosea’s mental checklist, and he tucked two cans of it underneath his arm before grabbing a few other things. He looked over his shoulder to find Arthur staring at the display of candy in the store. A grin pulled at the corner of his mouth at the sight. 

“You see anything you want, Arthur?”

He jumped and spun around before shaking his head. “No, sir.”

Hosea furrowed his brow and glanced at the candy before his gaze returned to Arthur. “Are you sure?”

“Yessir,”

“Alright, then, why don’t you keep an eye on the horses while I finish up here, hm?”

Arthur nodded and left without another word. 

Hosea heaved a sigh. He had been hoping for an honest answer from Arthur, and a part of him wondered if he had caused more damage than he realized. Then again, there was no telling what the boy’s previous caregivers had been like. Arthur hadn’t spoken a word to any of them about his past, completely leaving it in the hands of Hosea’s imagination and nothing else. There were no grounds for his assumptions other than Arthur’s anger and jumpiness, and the lack of concrete evidence for the answers he searched for nearly drove him mad at times.

The ride back to camp had been long and filled with silence. After Arthur had wordlessly hitched Boadicea and removed her tack, he went straight to his tent. Of course, Susan had seen the whole thing, and her face scrunched up in concern as she marched herself over to Hosea.

“What on Earth did you do to that poor boy?”

Hosea raised his hands in defense. “Listen, I’ve already apologized to the kid, but we went into town to sell a pelt. I got carried away trying to sell a story for a few extra bucks and accidentally yelled at him.”

“_Hosea!_”

“Please, Susan, I already feel guilty enough,” he sighed as he walked past her to his tent.

It was late in the evening when Arthur finally left his tent for the first time since their return, and he was surprised to find a couple of bars of candy on the folding table outside. He stiffened at first, his mind immediately racing to uncover the inevitable catch behind the offer. He lifted his eyes to scan the camp for Hosea and found him sitting beside the fire. Without hesitation, Arthur picked up the candy and strode over to him.

“Here,” he said as he held out the candy to him.

Hosea frowned as he eyed the offering before studying Arthur. “You don’t want it?”

“No,”

He quirked an eyebrow in disbelief. “Your expression in the store said otherwise.”

Arthur scowled, feeling a wave of familiar anger well up inside and make his skin itch. “I don’t want it!”

Hosea didn’t flinch, his unwavering gaze meeting Arthur’s fiery eyes. “Too bad, _I _want you to have them.”

The comment extinguished his anger all at once, leaving him confused yet again that day. “What?”

“You heard what I said,”

“Why?”

It was Hosea’s turn to hesitate. He didn’t fully know the reason why. All he knew was that he suddenly had a soft spot for the teen that he wasn’t quite ready to admit he had. “No reason, just wanted you to. However, if you’re so desperate for a reason, then let’s say you earned it from a hard day’s work.”

“_You _did all the work,”

He shrugged. “I’ve already given you my real reason, take it or leave it.”

A frustrated groan escaped Arthur as he marched himself back to his tent, and as quiet as it was, he swore he heard a chuckle from the older outlaw.

There was a gradual shift over the course of a month in the camp dynamic that Arthur had started to notice. While Hosea and Dutch still spent some nights together and went on fishing trips now and then, something had changed between them. Dutch had started to spend more time with Miss Grimshaw, and eventually, Hosea, in turn, began sleeping in his own tent. It was odd to Arthur. The two of them had seemed happy enough together despite their occasional tiffs and quarreling. Yet, something had caused Dutch to gravitate to Miss Grimshaw, and while he could make neither head nor tail of it, Arthur knew better than to ask why. 

The change also led to Hosea bringing Arthur along on more trips and small robberies. Not that he minded. The man, while Arthur would never voice the thought, was becoming someone he felt he could look up to and trust. It was a feeling he’d never experienced before, and he still wasn’t sure what to do with that knowledge, and he feared it was too good to be true.

The air was sticky and hot as he and Hosea set out towards Chicago. They’d been gradually making their way further into Illinois for reasons unknown to Arthur, although he found it safe to assume there was a rhyme and reason to it all. While he had enjoyed their small camp on the outskirts of the small city of Lafayette, he knew quite intimately that nothing good ever lasted.

By the time the two of them arrived in the city, they were both in desperate need of a drink. They hitched their horses outside a saloon along the main street and found two open spaces by the counter.

“Drinks are on me, of course. What’ll it be, Arthur?” Hosea asked as he undid another button of his shirt in an attempt to cool off.

“Just some water,”

“That all?”

He nodded.

Hosea shrugged and ordered himself a whiskey after asking the bartender for a glass of water. He then removed his hat and ran a hand through the damp blond strands of his hair. “Sure is a nasty day!”

“Beats freezing your ass off,”

Hosea snorted. “Maybe to you, but I would _much _rather lose my ass in the cold than deal with this muggy, infernal heat.” 

His eyes scanned the room as he waited for their drinks. There were all sorts of patrons in the saloon, although there was one in particular who caught his eye. He reeked of wealth, and Hosea couldn’t help but smile to himself. The gentleman would no doubt be an easy target. Perhaps Dutch had been right about Chicago being a city of opportunity. A city with enough transient people to keep them from being noticed. A place where they could truly redistribute the wealth among the townspeople as well as themselves.

When their drinks came, Hosea took one long swig before leaving Arthur’s side. Arthur frowned at first and opened his mouth to ask where he was going until he saw the stranger who had caught Hosea’s interest. A knowing grin pulled at the corner of his mouth. He had come to know the man as someone who never let an opportunity go to waste, and it amazed him how, regardless, Hosea was always calculating and full of tact.

Arthur downed his water and watched as Hosea began to spin his web. It amazed him how each one of Hosea’s victims eventually trusted him enough to let their walls down. Arthur wasn’t sure if it was his lean figure or soft eyes, but the older outlaw’s prey always fell for his lies. Even when they didn’t, Hosea was still able to distract them enough to nab a pocket watch or a piece of jewelry. It was like clockwork; Hosea would tell his tale, distract, then pickpocket. 

A loud gust of laughter pulled Arthur’s attention away from the show, and he looked over to find a man leaning heavily against the counter, his pupils blown wide and his cheeks bright red. Arthur knew the look all too well. The man was drunk, and by the looks of it, could hardly stand on his feet. He smirked as he toyed with an idea and glanced over at Hosea to find that the man was still luring the rich fellow into his trap. 

Surely Arthur could make use of himself with his own thievery. 

Adjusting his hat, Arthur slipped past a few patrons and eased his way over to the man. Yet now that he was standing at an arm's length, Arthur realized that the drunkard was near twice his size. As he hung back behind the unsuspecting gentleman, he hesitated, and his mouth went dry as his eyes looked him over once more. Drawing a deep breath, Arthur steeled himself, gathered what courage he had, and slowly slipped his hand into the man’s coat pocket. 

A vice-like grip clamped down around his wrist without warning, and his blood turned to ice as the stranger spun around. There was a fire in his eyes, and Arthur froze as the hand on his wrist tightened painfully. 

He wanted to call for Hosea, to shout for anyone, but it was as if all the air had escaped his lungs. Fear froze him in place, and he had no choice but to follow the man who pulled him along as he exited the saloon through the backdoor.

Arthur could feel his heart hammering against his chest. The sound of it was nearly deafening, and he yelped as the burly brute of a man wrapped a hand around his throat.

“You fucking brat!” He hissed as he forcefully pinned Arthur against the brick wall of the alleyway. 

Arthur struggled against him, desperately clawing and pulling at the firm grip around his neck as he tried to kick his way free. Yet, to his dismay, the man was as immovable as the wall he was held against.

“No respect these days,” the man continued as his grip tightened, “I’m gonna teach you a lesson you won’t _ever_ forget.”

Arthur’s vision started to tunnel with the increased pressure, and he closed his eyes. Nothing about his situation surprised him. If anything, it briefly occurred to him how he was lucky that it hadn’t happened sooner. His thoughts, however, came to a grinding halt when he heard the clicking of a revolver’s hammer locking into place.

“Drop him right now or I’ll introduce your pea-sized brain to the light of day!” 

Arthur’s eyes snapped open at the sound of Hosea’s voice, and he was only able to catch a glimpse of the sheer rage that burned in his gaze. His jaw was set as he firmly held the muzzle of his revolver against the stranger’s temple. 

The man dropped Arthur almost immediately. He coughed and wheezed on the ground where he landed. His chest burned like fire as he pinched his watering eyes shut, his lungs desperately pulling in air. 

“Your son just tried to—”

“I don’t care what he tried to do! Don’t you ever fucking touch him again, is that clear?” His voice was laced with venom, promising the violence he threatened.

The man snarled out several choice words before retreating into the saloon. Hosea decocked his revolver and holstered it as his heated gaze lowered to Arthur.

“What the hell were you thinking, Arthur?” He demanded. 

“I thought he’d be easy,” Arthur gasped out, his voice hoarse. “Just wanted to help.”

“You nearly got yourself killed!”

Arthur’s anger flared without warning as he straightened himself and leaned against the brick wall. “Why do you care?”

Hosea blinked. “Excuse me?”

“I ain’t any good to you,” he muttered as he returned his hat to his head, “can’t fish, can’t pickpocket, can’t _read_. I don’t know why the hell you and Dutch keep me around.”

“Please, it hasn’t occurred to you that maybe, just maybe, we care about you?”

He scoffed. “My own daddy didn’t care about me. Why should you?”

“Oh, believe me, there’s no reason we _should_. You were a pain in the ass when we took you in, and you _still _are sometimes.” He replied with a cheeky grin. “But you have to trust me when I tell you that we _want _you around.”

Arthur frowned in disbelief as he processed his words. “You...want me around?” 

“Yes!” He said as he held out his hand. “Come on, it’s about time I teach you how _not _to get yourself nearly killed while pickpocketing.”

Luckily, Chicago was a city with a surplus of gullible rich folks that were easy pickings, and Hosea made sure to teach Arthur to the best of his ability the tips and tricks of the trade. From pickpocketing to swindling, he showed him the ropes and told him the signs of when to back off and when to move in for the steal.

“It’s like playing poker or a game of chess. Both require skill, but half the battle is reading the other person.” Hosea had said. 

As usual, Arthur learned quickly, and by the end of the day, the boy had managed to steal and con nearly twenty dollars altogether. It was nothing to bat an eye at, and Hosea praised him for doing so well. 

Except, in Arthur’s mind, his success paled in comparison to his failure from earlier. Despite Hosea’s encouragement and a hefty pat on the back, he was convinced that he had disappointed him. Surely the man had only taught him how to properly steal out of pity, and he dreaded the punishment that was sure to come. It was only a matter of time.

They decided to stop and rest a little more than halfway from their main camp. Hosea could tell that the teen was worn out from their eventful day. Since the incident, Arthur had been beside himself. Unless spoken to, he’d hardly said a word, and it’d been nigh impossible to hold his gaze for more than a second before he looked away.

When they’d settled down by the campfire Hosea had made, he looked up at Arthur and watched as shadows cast by the light of the campfire danced against his youthful features. The bruise around his neck had already started to darken, and the sight of it made his heart sink. While he hadn’t shown it, he’d been scared to death when he saw the brute at the saloon drag him out of sight. There was no telling what the stranger had planned at the time, and Hosea was grateful that Arthur was lucky enough to come away with only a bruise and nothing more.

Arthur’s eyes flicked up to catch Hosea’s pensive stare on his neck and he swallowed. “So, what are you gonna do to me?”

The question was like a slap to the face, and it took him off guard. “_Pardon?_”

“Ain’t you gonna yell at me or somethin’?”

He shook his head. “Nah, that bruise is enough of a reminder that you weren’t using your head.”

He scratched his arm as he looked away, unsure of what to do with Hosea’s kindness.

Of course, it wasn’t difficult for him to pick up on his uneasiness as he continued to study Arthur. “What made you run away from your family?”

He scoffed. “I didn’t run.”

“Then what happened?”

Arthur was quiet for the longest time as he fidgeted with the sleeve of his button-up. He’d never told anyone about his past before, but then again, no one had bothered to ask. Eventually, he told Hosea his story and explained how his mother had died when he was young and how his father turned to the bottle, among other things. That he’d only shot a gun before because of the trouble his father dragged him into with the law, and that it was his unlawfulness that eventually led to his hanging. It was there that he stopped telling his story, bringing his arms up around himself as he stared into the fire’s flames.

“I’m sorry, Arthur,” Hosea finally said after some time.

“Don’t be,” he muttered, “he deserved it.”

He made a tsk sound. “I wasn’t talking about your father. It sounds like the bastard wasn't hung soon enough. I’m sorry that you’ve had to go through all that.”

Arthur felt his lungs hitch as he rested his chin against his bent knee. He didn’t speak for a while, staying seated where he was in the grass. Even after Hosea had made their tent, he remained silent. Eventually, Hosea sat beside Arthur. He had intended to simply keep Arthur company until he was ready to sleep. However, after another shuddering breath broke the silence, Hosea felt him lean into his shoulder. While the gesture surprised him, he didn’t pull away. Instead, he wrapped an arm around Arthur’s shaking shoulders as he cried into his shirt, and it damn near broke Hosea’s heart.

“I’m so sorry Hosea,” he sobbed against his shoulder. “I didn’t mean to ruin things.”

“What do you mean?”

“Back at the saloon, I let you down and—”

Hosea gently shushed him as he rubbed his arm. “No, Arthur, you may have scared the shit out of me, but you didn’t let me down.”

If someone had told Hosea he’d be comforting a teen like he was now a year ago, he would’ve laughed. Not once did he see himself as someone who would take to an adolescent, let alone care for one this much. One thing had become as clear as day to him back in the alley, and that was that he was willing to risk his own life for Arthur, even _kill _to protect him.

Eventually, he was able to coax Arthur into the tent. It wasn’t difficult. Between the long ride in the hot sun, nearly being throttled, and the turbulent emotions the teen was navigating, he didn’t doubt that Arthur was exhausted. 

Hosea stared up at the canvas ceiling, recalling Arthur’s story as he listened to the late summer crickets and the boy’s rhythmic breathing. The more he reflected on Arthur’s past, the more everything else seemed to make sense. He sighed. His suspicions had, unfortunately, been correct. Now that he’d spent just over a year with Arthur, he knew the teen had a kind heart underneath the anger and fear he carried with him, and it saddened him to think that the world had nearly snuffed it out of him. 

He glanced over at Arthur who was sound asleep, his eyes lingering on the contusions on his throat. The teen had experienced so much unkindness in his life, and yet, in his own way, he still strived to be good. He smiled at the thought as he realized that perhaps Dutch had had the right idea of bringing Arthur in all those months ago.


	3. Reading, Writing, and Robbing

"How was Chicago?"

The question pulled Hosea from his reading of _A Tale of Two Cities _to find that Dutch had taken a seat beside him. He and Arthur had returned to camp before sunrise in order to avoid damaging what little pride Arthur had left. The teen had practically begged him not to tell the others about his blunder, and Hosea had agreed to keep the incident as their little secret.

“You were right, Dutch. The city’s practically crawling with gullible fools whose pockets are too deep for their own good.”

His eyes lit up at Hosea’s words. “I told you, Hosea! That’s, well, that’s just about the best news I’ve heard all month! How did Arthur fare in the big city?”

“The boy did fine, was a complete natural once he learned the ropes,”

“Good! I’m glad to hear it! I have big plans for us and that city. Just you wait, Hosea. Those people don’t know what’s comin’!” 

He smiled. “I don’t doubt that for a second.”

Dutch mirrored his wide smile, and out of his excitement, he pulled Hosea closer by his head to press his lips to his temple. Hosea merely rolled his eyes as the younger outlaw rose to his feet, and he watched as Dutch made his way over to Susan who was sipping a cup of coffee a few paces away. As he eagerly shared the news with her, Hosea couldn’t help the pang of wistfulness he felt in his heart. He and Dutch had gradually drifted apart on good terms, and Dutch had always been honest about the feelings he felt for Susan. Yet, as cordial as their separation had been, Hosea’s heart still felt tied to him. While Dutch’s impulsivity was downright infuriating at times, the man was unlike any person he’d met. Dutch had the ability to inspire greatness, and his charisma was remarkably charming. But he was no longer his, and Hosea had promised to respect that.

His thoughts were interrupted when he saw, out of the corner of his eye, Arthur sit down beside him. Hosea looked over to find him wearing the burgundy neckerchief he had given him to help hide most of the bruising. “How’re you feeling?”

Arthur shrugged, his gaze set on Dutch and Susan instead of Hosea. “Fine.”

“The neckerchief looks good on you,” he said, “I can hardly see the bruises.”

“I’m used to hiding things,”

Hosea furrowed his brow as he easily read between the lines. “So long as you stay out of trouble, that’ll be the last mark you’ll ever have to hide.”

He nodded to himself, daring to trust that he could take Hosea for his word. His eyes then flicked to the book in the older outlaw’s hands. “Can we read some more of that one book we started? The one about Tom...what’sit, Tom Lawyer?” 

“_Sawyer,_” a smile stretched across his face as he closed _A Tale of Two Cities. _“Of course, Arthur. I’d be happy to.”

More often than not, Arthur would smoke a cigarette or two as he listened to Hosea read. It was a soothing combination, and it quickly became one of his favorite pastimes. While Hosea didn’t fuss over his smoking habit, he _did _make Arthur read for longer periods between smokes, insisting that he wasn’t going to let him lie around sucking down smoke while he did all the hard work. 

There were times, however, when Hosea didn’t mind reading for an hour or so. Sometimes, he would bring the book they were reading while Arthur brought his journal, and they would sit in a grassy field or grove of trees. As Hosea read, Arthur would draw either the scenery around them or scenes from the book. The older outlaw left him alone when he drew, opting for reading the whole time as Arthur indulged himself in one of his few creative outlets.

The two of them would usually go hunting after their reading time before selling whatever they didn’t need in town. With Chicago being all that Dutch had promised, they’d moved their camp closer to the outskirts of the city, making these trips easier than their first. The weather had also started to cool, making for more pleasant rides, and bringing with it tells that fall was coming quickly. 

When they had finished their usual errands, Hosea purchased a newspaper and they sat down on a bench. Arthur lit a cigarette and the familiar smell of it filled Hosea's nostrils as he scanned the pages. His peaceful reading didn’t last long, however, when the sound of laughter caught his attention. He looked up to find a group of children walking together on the opposite side of the street. He checked his pocket watch for the time, and when he saw it was only a quarter till nine, he realized that they were a group of students on their way to school. A thought then occurred to Hosea, and his eyes flicked up from his pocket watch to Arthur, who was completely oblivious to the idea that was brewing in his mind. He looked him over as he tucked his pocket watch away, a crooked grin forming on his lips as he thumbed through the newspaper, no longer idly reading the headlines but instead searching with purpose.

“Say, how old are you, Arthur?” 

He shrugged as he took a long drag on a cigarette. “Fifteen, I think,”

“Have you ever been mistaken for being younger?” 

“Are you kiddin’ me?” He scoffed. “If I had a nickel for every time someone called me _kid, _you wouldn’t have found me on that street!”

His smile widened as he found the ‘help wanted’ section. “Is that so?” 

He nodded and finished his cigarette before flicking it to the side. 

“Well, today’s your lucky day! You’re going to school.”

Arthur took a double-take before staring at the man as if he had grown two more heads. “_I’m what?_” 

“As of today, you are now a student at Haven, the school that those boys are going to,” Hosea said as he rose to his feet, pulling Arthur up with him while pointing at the young students.

“Ain’t no fucking way I’m going to school!” He snapped as he shoved Hosea away from him. “Have you lost your mind?”

“Listen, kids will talk and brag about anything and everything if given the opportunity. They don’t know any better, and that’s where _you _come in. You would be great at figuring out what places and businesses are worth robbing.”

Arthur’s face paled and his chest tightened as he discovered that Hosea was serious. He shook his head, desperate to convince him otherwise. “_Please_, Hosea. You can’t make me go in there alone and—”

“Alone? Like hell I’m sending you in there alone! I’m going with you. After all, didn’t you know that my _passion_ is to teach the youth and to inspire them to _conform_ to society’s standards?” He replied facetiously. “It’s what I went to college for, and it’s a good thing Haven is looking to hire a teacher; says so right here in this paper. Although, it’s truly a shame I lost my degree in the Great Chicago Fire seven years ago.”

He stared at him, dumbfounded for a moment, and it wasn’t until Hosea winked at him that he realized the silver-tongued outlaw was including him in one of his scams. Not just as the mute son or an orphan, but as an _accomplice_. The thought had Arthur smiling from ear to ear.

“What do you say?” Hosea asked as he wrapped an arm around his shoulders and led him to a tailor down the street.

“I’m in, but I get more added to my share if I end up with bruised knuckles,”

Hosea laughed at that, and once they’d bought a decent enough outfit for both of them, they made their way over to the nearby school.

They ended up at a three-story, red-bricked building with tall limestone hooded windows. It was a grandiose piece of work, and Arthur didn’t like the look of it. He already felt unsure of the idea of being inside an educational institution, let alone a fancy one. Yet, even so, he followed Hosea through the iron-wrought gate and to the large wooden doors without protest.

Inside, they met a gentleman who was, to Arthur’s surprise, taller and leaner than Hosea. His tailored suit and swept-back hair was the textbook definition of the word debonair. He reminded Arthur of Tom Sawyer’s teacher, and he was almost disappointed when the gentleman introduced himself as Elijah Morris instead of Mr. Walters. As Arthur expected, he was the schoolmaster of Haven School, and quite proud of it from what he could tell.

The interview with the schoolmaster (which was more like a conversation) had gone smoother than Hosea expected it to. Morris didn’t ask for his credentials, taking him for his word that he had gone to Yale College and had a teaching certificate. It was no secret that the school was desperate for more teachers, and Hosea was given the job almost immediately.

"Thank you very much for coming in today, mister…?"

"Callahan, Hosea Callahan, and this is my son, Arthur Callahan," Hosea answered the gentleman as he shook his hand.

"A pleasure," he said. "If you have any questions, please don't hesitate to ask them." 

"Of course,"

"I'll show you both to your classrooms," Elijah said as he entered the hallway. “There are four classrooms on each of the three main floors. How old are you, Arthur? Thirteen?”

Arthur felt his mouth go dry as he realized they would be in different classrooms, and he only nodded.

“You’ll be on the third floor, then. I’ll walk you to your class after I show Mr. Callahan to his classroom.”

The classroom that Hosea was led to was made of both boys and girls that looked a few years younger than Arthur. Mr. Morris then explained to them that Haven was in the middle of transitioning from a monitorial system to one that was more like a lecture-style based education that centered on the teacher. Once Hosea was introduced to the students who would be his monitors, Elijah took Arthur by his shoulders and led him down the hallway to the stairs.

Hearing Hosea's voice growing distant made Arthur feel uneasy. He was on his own now, not entirely, of course, but Hosea wasn't in earshot anymore. They weren't even on the same floor. Arthur swallowed as they approached a door, his heart pounding at a rabbit-quick pace. Elijah left after introducing him to the class, and a monitor promptly instructed him on where to sit.

The classroom was far different than what Arthur had experienced before. His brief (and even the word brief was an overstatement) education had taken place in a schoolhouse with a dirt floor. While he didn’t remember much from that time in his life, he knew for a fact that it hadn’t been this nice. The room was large enough to fit thirty students and had a small stage at the front.

His musings didn’t last for long before the teacher, who had been introduced as Miss Clarke, called out his name to redirect his attention to her. “Arthur Callahan, why isn’t your slate out?”

Apologizing was almost physically painful as he withdrew the slate from his desk. The snickering of a student followed, and he looked over to see one of the monitor’s smirking at him. It was at that moment that Arthur decided he didn’t like the dark-haired boy, and it was clear to him that the feeling was mutual.

Noon recess couldn’t come soon enough. Arthur’s head was pounding with a splitting headache from trying to follow the teacher’s lessons. It was difficult for him to keep up, and the fresh air helped clear his mind. He massaged his temple as he sat on the concrete steps where he watched the other students play. They chased each other as they laughed and screamed in delight. Arthur didn’t get it, and the game they were playing made even less sense to him. There were two teams from what he could tell, but that was as far as his understanding reached.

A student he recognized from his class stopped running when their eyes met. The boy glanced at his peers and scratched his head before jogging over to Arthur.

“Hey! It’s Arthur, right?”

“Yeah,”

“Name’s Lawrence, you wanna play?”

Arthur’s eyes flicked to the game before meeting the boy’s hazel ones. “I don’t know.”

“What do you mean you don’t know?”

“I don’t know how to play,”

“You’ve never played prisoner’s base?”

He shook his head.

Lawrence’s eyebrows lifted in surprise before he shook his head. “It’s like tag, except there are two teams and one person from each team starts as a prisoner. Each team’s goal is to try to keep their prisoners and rescue their teammates. It’s kind of like capture the flag, but with people.”

Arthur wasn’t sure what that game was either, but he found himself joining in, although he wasn’t sure why. He couldn’t recall the last time he’d played with kids his age, and he was taken by surprise by how much fun it was. Soon enough, he was smiling wide as he ran after other students. He was faster than most of them. It was one of the rare benefits of his rough life.

He had been hard on the heels of a girl who had escaped their prison when someone collided with him. The impact was hard enough to send him to the ground, and he swore under his breath as he skidded against the dirt. Arthur grimaced as he sat up and looked up to find that the boy who ran into him was the same monitor who had smirked at him. His anger was fanned to life as the boy sneered at him, and a few others joined him in his amusement with their tittering. Arthur clenched his fist, ready to swing the second he was back on his feet. Yet, he hadn’t even gotten his legs underneath him when Lawrence shoved the boy away.

“Beat it, Frank,” he huffed. “No one likes a sore loser!”

The boy seemed more inconvenienced than bothered, but he moved on anyway to continue playing.

Lawrence offered a hand to Arthur who decided to take it despite his bruised ego. “You okay?”

“I’m fine,” he muttered as he brushed what dirt he could off his new clothes. “What’s with that jackass anyway?”

“His father’s a business tycoon, practically has the meatpacking industry around here in his pocket. He thinks that makes him better than everyone else. Means about as much as a bucket of piss if you ask me.”

Arthur snorted at that. “So, he thinks he can do whatever the hell he wants because his family’s got money?”

“Exactly, gets away with it, too,”

“What’d you say his name was?”

“Frank, Frank Davis,”

Arthur stored the information away in his mind as they rejoined the game. It was a lead that Hosea would no doubt be interested in, and he had to admit that the idea of robbing the nuisance’s parents was tempting.

The rest of the day was mostly uneventful, and Arthur was glad to see Hosea again at the school’s entrance. Hosea rejoined him at his side with a smile as he ruffled his hair. While the teen rolled his eyes as he shoved his hand away, he couldn’t help the grin that twisted his lips. However, Hosea’s amusement was soon replaced with concern when he saw the streak of dirt along his side.

“For crying out loud, Arthur, we just got you those clothes _today! _What happened?”

“A tycoon’s _brat_ happened, that’s what,”

Hosea quirked an eyebrow. “Care to explain?”

Arthur was happy to, and as he retold all that had happened and how the Davis family would be perfect to rob, he was surprised to find that Hosea was _frowning_. It confused him, dousing his excitement all at once. “What’re you lookin’ at me like that for?”

“We aren’t here to enact petty acts of revenge,”

“This ain’t revenge! You were lookin’ for rich people, and I found one!”

“Come on, Arthur, you aren’t fooling anyone,”

He groaned in frustration. “But Hosea—”

“But nothing! The plan is to scout out potential candidates for our thievery, not to _target _a single person because he’s hurt your pride.”

Arthur scowled, but said nothing more. What could he say? Hosea had hit the nail on the head, although he refused to admit that he was right.

The next few days followed a similar pattern. Arthur and Hosea would ride into the city, stable their horses, and go to school. Yet, as the days continued, Hosea noticed that Arthur had started to end the day with bruised knuckles. The teen, however, refused to talk about why he’d received his licks. If anything, the most Hosea ever got out of him was a shrug. It drove him mad, and while he hated going behind Arthur’s back, he eventually was unable to resist asking Miss Clarke for the full story.

It was during noon recess about a week later when he made his way up the stairs and to her classroom. Not wanting to startle her, he knocked on her door and waited to enter until he was given permission. As he opened the door, she turned away from the chalkboard and smiled at him. She was a young thing, just shy of twenty-two by the looks of it, and her bright eyes matched her youth.

“Mr. Callahan! To what do I owe the pleasure of your company this afternoon?” She asked.

“Well, it’s my son that brings me here. I’m worried about him.”

“Oh?”

"Now don't get me wrong, I’m not here to question your discipline as I’m sure he’s deserved every lick. That boy’s stubborn as a mule and twice as thick-headed sometimes.”

She relaxed at that and set the chalk in her hand down before brushing off her hands. “Yes, but he’s learning fast. He pretends not to be interested, but he isn’t very good at it.”

“No, lying isn’t his forte,” Hosea replied with a smile as he sat on a desk. “Which is why I’m here. He refuses to tell me why he’s getting the lashes, and he’s left me no choice but to ask you about them.”

“Well, it depends on the day. Sometimes it’s foul language, other days I catch him sneaking a smoke on school grounds, but usually, it’s his temper, Mr. Callahan.”

“His temper?”

“Yes, he lashes out when he’s frustrated, and unfortunately that happens quite frequently,”

“Is there a particular pattern that precedes his outbursts?”

She shook her head. “As far as I can tell, no, but who knows?”

He nodded to himself and rose to his feet. “Thank you for your time, Miss Clarke.”

Arthur’s moodiness only worsened as the days progressed, and Sundays were no longer enjoyable days spent lazing about. The teen dreaded Mondays, and it wasn’t uncommon for him to beg and plead with Hosea to let him stay in camp.

As guilty as he felt, Hosea refused to let him quit, and it was only when Arthur started avoiding him that he started to reconsider his decision. He didn’t want to push the boy away nor make his life any harder than it already was, and between Dutch spending most of his time with Susan and Arthur keeping to himself, Hosea was starting to feel quite alone.

Despite being mostly absorbed with his feelings for Susan, Dutch noticed the change in Hosea’s demeanor. In an attempt to fix it, Dutch decided to join him on his break one afternoon, and Hosea gladly decided to take the opportunity to express his concerns. They sat on the curb just outside the gate where Dutch idly smoked his cigar while Hosea fidgeted with his pocket watch, opening and closing its cover in thought.

“I’m worried about him, Dutch. There’s something he’s not telling me.” He finally said.

“He’ll turn around,” Dutch replied before taking a puff of his cigar, “trust me. ‘Sides, it’s normal for boys to dislike school.”

“Sure, but like this?”

He shrugged. “Don't know, he hasn’t told you anything?”

“He mentioned a boy who had taunted him, but surely Arthur knows better than to let that get to him,”

Dutch cocked an eyebrow as the smoke from his cigar curled around the brim of his hat. “You really believe that horseshit? This is _Arthur _we’re talking about.”

Hosea scowled at him, and before he could reply with the sharp retort that was on his tongue, one of his scholars came running at a full sprint through the opened gate and over to him.

“Mr. Callahan! Come quick! There’s a fight!”

The boy didn’t need to say much more to get Hosea on his feet and following the boy. As he ran after him, he was led to the schoolyard where a crowd of students was huddled around what could only be the fight his student had described. Many of them looked shocked while others cheered on with glee. Hosea ordered the students to step aside as he made his way through the crowd and stopped in his tracks at the sight that greeted him.

Arthur was on top of another student around his age, straddling him and pinning him to the ground with his weight as his fists landed on the boy’s face in a flurry. He’d never seen Arthur so angry before, his blue eyes were bright with fury and his features were contorted into a snarl. The scene was jarring, and it took Hosea a moment to shake himself from his shock before he took action.

It took some effort, but eventually, he was able to haul Arthur off the student. Arthur, however, wasn’t finished. He struggled against Hosea’s hold around his arms and spat out curses, bristling like an enraged wild animal.

Other students helped the other boy onto his feet, a boy he could only assume to be Frank, and one even handed him a handkerchief for his busted lip and nose. Of course, Arthur hadn’t escaped without a few cuts of his own. As Hosea pulled him away, he noticed there was a cut along the bridge of his nose that was bleeding profusely.

“Arthur—_shit_, would you just stop for a second!” Hosea grunted as he tried to keep his grip firm.

“Let me go, Hosea!”

“I will once you calm down!”

It took a few more minutes for Arthur to stop struggling, and it was only then that Hosea let him go, gently dropping him onto the ground as they both panted.

“Care to tell me what happened before the schoolmaster gets here?”

Arthur shook his head as he attempted to wipe the blood off his face, which only succeeded in smearing the crimson mess.

He heaved a sigh. “Please, Arthur. If you don’t tell me, I’ll be left with no choice but to believe you started it.”

“I didn’t start shit!” He shouted as his fiery gaze snapped up to him.

“Then what happened?”

Arthur’s eyes dropped to the ground as he pulled at some blades of grass. “He…he called you some things. Said you were more woman than man, and that it made him feel sorry for my whoring mother.” He wiped his nose again. “I tried warnin’ him first before punching him.”

Hosea was speechless. He couldn’t care less about what a child had to say about him. Hell, he’d had _far _worse insults hurled at him throughout the years. What robbed him of his speech, was the fact that Arthur had gone so long enduring such abuse, had bottled it inside for so long that it made him snap.

“Has this been going on for a while?”

He shrugged. 

“And I assume he’s been mostly insulting you this whole time?”

“Yeah, but that ain’t nothin’ new. I’ve had worse.”

The statement felt like a knife to his heart, and burning beneath his anguish was a dark anger that took him by surprise. Yet Hosea maintained his calm facade as he helped Arthur to his feet. He straightened his shirt that had come untucked and slipped a suspender back over his shoulder. Hosea then withdrew a handkerchief from his pocket, wiped away what blood was still on his face, and instructed Arthur to hold it against the cut on his nose.

"Dutch is outside, he'll take you back to camp,"

Arthur furrowed his brow. "Ain't Mr. Morris gonna want to talk to me?"

"I don't give a rat's ass if he wants to hear a damn _speech _from you," he muttered. "Now go on before he shows up and I end up having to punch someone myself."

He nodded and headed for the gate as Hosea turned to face the side entrance of the building. Sure enough, a student had brought Elijah out to see the madness that ensued just moments earlier. Drawing a deep breath and squaring his shoulders, he walked over to the gentleman.

“Mr. Callahan,” Elijah greeted, “may I have a word with you?”

Hosea was more than happy to oblige, knowing he’d have his chance to ask his own questions when the time was right. He followed the schoolmaster to his office, and when he gestured to the Victorian armchair in front of his desk, Hosea sat down without protest. 

Elijah sighed as he sat in his own wingback chair, his fingers pressed together in thought as he rested his elbows on his walnut desk. The silence between them was heavy, yet Hosea bided his time. He would let Elijah have the first move to see how he would play their proverbial game of chess.

“Mr. Callahan, I do hope you have some sort of explanation for your son’s highly inappropriate behavior,”

“Pardon me for being brusque, but I don’t see a need for any explanation. My understanding is that your school has allowed my son to be harrassed without any attempt at intervening on his behalf.”

“Then you misunderstand, the only harassment on this campus has been from _Arthur_, and _only _Arthur,”

Hosea’s eyes narrowed. “Don’t patronize me. Surely you’ve seen the way Frank Davis treats the other students. You might be dense, but you aren’t blind.”

“Frank is a wonderful addition to our school,” he replied tersely, his patience clearly wearing thin. “He comes from a wonderful family.”

His anger bubbled to the surface at that, and his grip on the armrests of his chair tightened. “So you’re telling me that, to the detriment of Haven School, you are willingly bending over for some pretentious, aristocratic family?” 

He scoffed. “Mr. Callahan, I don’t think you grasp the reality of this situation. _Your _son threw the first punch, and it’s been _your_ son who’s been causing trouble left and right since the day he got here.”

Hosea was on his feet in an instant, his anger igniting like a match to a powder keg. The sheer audacity of assuming Arthur was the cause of it all made him beyond livid, and it was at that moment that he decided he’d had enough. “You are sorely mistaken, Arthur is a boy who’s been robbed of a decent education due to your priggish favoritism, and I refuse to teach at an institution whose academia prioritizes dirty money over a wealth of knowledge!” He spat. “You can keep your hypocritical standards for all I care, and you can guarantee you won’t be seeing the two of us ever again.”

Arthur regarded the damage that had been done to his face in Miss Grimshaw’s handheld mirror. The skin around his eye was already bruising, and the cut across the bridge of his nose was angry and swollen. He sighed and set aside the mirror before resting his head in his hands. His emotions had gotten the best of him, _again, _and it was because of his lack of self-control that he had ruined Hosea’s plan. To make matters worse, he’d been an ass to him too as of late, and Arthur cursed himself for it. His behavior had been childish and selfish, and there was no fixing the damage that had been done.

The guilt that churned in his gut made him feel sick, and it was only when he heard the sound of pounding hooves that he lifted his head from his hands. It was Hosea just as he had expected. Arthur drew a deep breath and strode over to him without hesitation. 

“I’m _real _sorry, Hosea, I swear it won’t happen again! I promise I’ll start using my head—”

Hosea cut him off by pulling him into a hug, and he immediately tensed. He felt his breath catch in his chest, frozen in place and unsure of what to make of the embrace. Arthur decided to squeeze his eyes shut as a sense of dread filled him, doubting anyone could forgive him that quickly. 

Yet, there was no verbal or physical assault that came after the embrace. Even as Hosea let go and examined his mild injuries, his touch and tone never strayed from being gentle. 

“Are you alright?” Hosea finally asked.

“I’m fine,” he replied quickly despite the headache that made his head throb. “What did Mr. Morris say?”

“Don’t worry about that bastard, it doesn’t matter what he said,”

He worried his lip between his teeth as he stared at his boots. “I’m sorry I ruined everything.”

“No, _I’m _sorry. I’m the one who put you in that situation.” Hosea said. “But next time, Arthur, _please _tell me what’s going on. I can’t help you if you don’t let me.”

Arthur nodded. “Yessir.”

Hosea’s lips quirked upwards in a sly grin. “Good news is I know just the thing that’ll make you feel better.”

A deep crease formed between his brows. “And what’s that?”

“There’s a house in the suburbs that belong to a family by the name of Davis. I heard from a bright young man that they’re a tycoon family with more money than you could imagine.” He said with a wink. “I’m sure they’re long overdue for a surprise overnight visit.” 

Arthur’s face lit up at his implications, and all at once, he forgot about his troubles from earlier.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh goodness, as a teacher, I had so much fun writing this chapter and researching what schools were like in the 1800s. I hope you enjoyed it as much as I did writing it!
> 
> Also, thank you for the lovely comments and kudos!! They truly make my day!!! <3 
> 
> Have a wonderful day!


	4. The Art of Misdirection

It was Dutch who ended up scouting out the area. Since the Davis’ son, Frank, would easily recognize Hosea and Arthur, they decided that sending Dutch was their best option. Hosea and Arthur played dominoes as they waited for his return, and Arthur found himself stuck in a losing streak. By the time thirty minutes had passed, Hosea had won five games in a row. It was infuriating, and no amount of strategizing or staring at his dominoes seemed to help. Just when he thought he’d gained the upper hand, Hosea always pulled out a blank or a domino that left him stumped. When he won again for the sixth time, Arthur groaned in frustration.

“How the hell are you doin’ that?” He demanded.

“Do you really want to know?”

“Yes!” 

A wide smirk twisted his lips as his hand disappeared underneath the table before placing four dominoes next to the others. 

Arthur's eyes flew wide before he frowned (and nearly pouted) as his gaze met Hosea’s again. The older outlaw was as smug as can be, and Arthur couldn't believe he'd fallen for his trick six times. “_You cheated?_”

“And that surprises you?” 

He scowled at him. “No, but why’d you cheat?”

“The art of a conman is not in the skill of his acting, but rather in how well he distracts. You were so focused on the game itself that you didn’t even notice I was changing out dominoes.”

Arthur wasn’t impressed, nor amused by the impromptu lesson. “And you felt the need to keep that up for _six_ games?” 

He gave him a wink. “Look at it this way, it’s a lesson you won’t soon forget.”

“Sure, and I ain’t about to play dominoes with you again anytime soon either,”

Hosea only laughed as he cleaned up the dominoes and put them back in their case. 

They continued to wait at the table, opting to play a few games of Black Jack. This time, Arthur made sure to keep an eye on Hosea’s hands, leery of every move he made. 

Dutch returned an hour or so later with a smile that nearly stretched from ear to ear, and seeing it made Arthur excited for what was to come. Judging by his enthusiasm, Arthur could tell he had a grand plan figured out. Although, Hosea didn’t share their excitement. He rarely did, and he eyed Dutch as he hitched the Count and strode over with his saddlebag in hand, exuding confidence with every step. 

“Well boys, I hope you’re in the mood to get polished up for this evening.”

“What for?” Hosea asked. “The plan was to rob them, not out dress them.”

“The Davis family just so happen to be having a fancy soiree tonight, and as fate would have it, we’re long lost cousins! Second cousins by _marriage_, of course, but regardless, yours truly has been personally invited.”

He shook his head. “I’m afraid a fancy outfit isn’t going to be enough of a disguise for me, Dutch.”

“No, but these spectacles might be,” he replied as he pulled a case out of his bag. He then opened it to reveal a pair of glasses with round frames. “Pair these with a top hat, and you’ll be as good as gold.”

Arthur couldn’t help but snicker at Hosea’s look of disgust. It was a rare sight, and he was enjoying every second of it.

Hosea eventually looked up from Dutch’s offering to meet his eyes. “You can’t be serious.”

“Oh, come now, they aren’t that bad!”

“But they are quite the _distraction_, wouldn’t you say, Hosea?” Arthur smirked.

“Both of you are a pain in my ass,” he muttered as he took the case from Dutch’s hand. “Between the two of you, I’ll no doubt go gray early.”

“Ever one for the theatrics, aren’t you?”

Hosea gave Dutch a shove for that one but he only laughed.

Dutch eagerly laid out the plan for them as Susan and Hosea made a stew. He explained how he and Hosea would mingle with the guests and distract Mr. and Mrs. Davis while Arthur would sneak in through the back and steal what he could. Hosea stopped listening then as he sat down and set his empty bowl to the side. He interrupted Dutch promptly after, protesting against the idea and voicing his concerns over leaving Arthur alone. Dutch exchanged a look with him, both confused and skeptical of his opinion. 

Susan was able to read their wordless exchange like an open book, and she managed to give them the space they needed by taking Arthur by the hand and insisting that he needed a thorough washing before they left. He tried to object with his grumbling and complaining, but Susan wouldn’t have it as she dragged him over to a keg full of water.

Dutch shook his head, his fingers running over the mustache he was growing out. "Help me understand why sending Arthur in while we distract is such a bad idea."

"If he gets caught, he has no backup. The boy's never done a house robbery before."

"Hosea, you and I have been teaching him all the skills he needs to be successful for something like this,"

"That's what I'm afraid of. If something happens to him, the blame falls on our shoulders."

He exhaled an exasperated huff. "Nothing's gonna happen to him. You've taught him how to use a gun, correct?"

"Yes,"

"And I've taught him how to use a knife. He'll be fine."

Hosea heaved a sigh and massaged the bridge of his nose. He frowned as the memory of Arthur struggling in the alley was dredged up. The fear in the boy’s eyes as he’d struggled for his life was an image that was seared into his mind, one that he would never forget. If the same thing happened at the party, there would be no way for Hosea to know. Dutch would need his help distracting the guests, which would keep Arthur out of his sight and earshot. 

A reassuring squeeze to his shoulder interrupted his thoughts, and he looked up to find Dutch's gaze had turned sympathetic. 

"I care about him just as much as you do, but you have to trust him. _I_ know he can hold his own, but for the sake of your sanity, what if we both redirect the Davis' attention before you ask for their bathroom. That’ll get you inside where you can assist as needed."

"How do you know they've got one inside?"

"Having enough money to build a house with indoor plumbing was one of the _many_ things they boasted about,”

He looked over his shoulder at Arthur who was clearly doing his best not to fight with Susan as he scrubbed at his face and hair. His gaze then returned to Dutch who was patiently waiting for his answer. 

"Fine,"

The only gun they brought with them was on a holster they’d let Arthur borrow. However, with it belonging to Dutch, they had to cinch it tighter than the leather was used to for it to fit around Arthur’s hips. The weight of it was unfamiliar to him, but there was something that felt right about it as if a gun belt belonged there. Dutch also equipped him with a knife and tied a black bandana around his neck that he could slip over his nose once he’d entered the house.

Once Hosea and Dutch had gotten dressed in their three-piece suits, the three of them rode into the city. When they reached the right neighborhood, they hitched their horses out of sight and walked the rest of the way to the house, or rather a mansion, on the corner of the street. Dutch had conveniently left that part out as they approached the tall opulent building. He wrinkled his nose and peered over his glasses to get a better look at the sight. Hosea could already hear the sounds of people laughing and chattering at the party, and the mansion’s windows were lit and open. 

When the house was less than a block away, Hosea stopped along the short cement wall and turned Arthur around to face him. The teen’s brows furrowed in confusion for a brief moment until Hosea gingerly pulled the bandana over his nose.

“Do you remember what the plan is?”

He nodded. “I give you twenty minutes, head on inside, and take what I can as quietly as I can.”

Hosea handed him his pocket watch and opened his mouth to praise him when he felt Dutch grab his shoulder. He turned to find him examining the mansion.

“We might have a change in plans,” 

“What do you mean?”

“Looks like they’ve decided to host the party inside,”

Hosea frowned. “It’s what? I thought you were told it was going to be outside!”

“I never said that!” Dutch retorted as he sat on the wall. 

“So you _assumed_ it was outside?”

He didn’t answer.

Hosea muttered under his breath. “I swear you’re going to be the death of me one of these days.”

“Listen, this ain’t somethin’ we can’t figure out! They had a few child servants in there, Arthur could easily slip in as one of them. In a house that big, he’s bound to go unnoticed.”

He was more than ready to argue against the idea when Arthur pulled down his bandana and spoke up. 

“Please, Hosea? I’ll be fine! I promise not to draw attention to myself.”

Hosea met his eyes, and there was no mistaking the determined look in them. With a sigh, he finally nodded and removed the gun belt, satchel, and bandana from him before hiding them in a bush on the other side of the wall. However, he left the knife that was tucked away in Arthur’s jacket, instructing him to use it only if he absolutely needed to.

Dutch smiled wide and straightened the flat cap that Arthur was wearing. “You’ll be fine, son. Just remember to be discreet and to take small things of high value, alright? When you’re finished, come find one of us and ask if we need anything. That’ll be our signal to tell us you’re done, and then we’ll meet you outside.”

Arthur nodded, and with that, Hosea and Dutch walked around the block to the front of the house while Arthur hopped the short wall.

“This is insane, Dutch,” Hosea whispered as they made their way to the open front doors.

“The greatest plans usually are,”

He rolled his eyes before forcing a smile as they made their way over to a couple he could only assume to be Mr. and Mrs. Davis. Hosea removed his hat as he was introduced to them, and it was only during a lull in the conversation nearly twenty minutes later that Hosea excused himself. He casually made his way to the back of the house, his eyes scanning each room for Arthur’s flat cap. 

Blending into the crowd was easy for Hosea as going unnoticed was one of his many talents, yet as he looked around one of the many parlor rooms, there was one gaze he met that dissolved his veneer for the briefest of seconds. It froze him to the spot and caused his heart to stumble over its own rhythm. Time seemed to stand still as the woman across the room held his gaze, her eyes seeming to see right through him. She offered him a small smile as she brushed a lock of hair behind her ear, and when she looked away, his reality resumed all at once.

While her beauty was breathtaking, it had been the unmistakable kindness in her eyes that had seized him. He swallowed and adjusted his bowtie as he averted his eyes. When he dared to look up again and saw her walking over, he swore under his breath. Now wasn’t the time for idle conversation, yet he also knew leaving abruptly would draw unnecessary attention to himself, and he couldn’t risk her following him for Arthur’s sake. 

“Evening, sir,” she greeted.

“Evening,”

“I don’t believe we’ve met,”

“No, we certainly haven't, I would’ve remembered,” he replied with a smile. “Name’s Hosea Matthews, and you are?” 

“Bessie, Bessie Abbott,”

He gingerly took her extended hand in his and pressed his lips to the back of it. “Pleasure.” 

“Pleasure’s all mine,” she grinned. 

“So, how do you know these well-to-do folks?”

She shrugged. “I don’t, really. My brother is the one who invited me to this soiree. He and Mr. Davis went to college together.”

“Is that so?”

“Yes, although he hardly puts up with the man. Everyone does.” She then lowered her voice. “If you ask me, this family has little respect for anyone who owns anything less than a mansion.”

He chuckled. “I figured as much.”

They chatted for a while about nothing and everything, and the more they talked, the less Hosea knew what to make of the situation. Everything about her was enchanting, and there was a part of him that longed to stay by her side for the rest of the evening. However, he knew that was impossible. They were in the middle of a job, one that had put Arthur’s safety on the line no less. The thought was enough to refocus him, and he reluctantly excused himself, saying he didn’t feel well and that it must’ve been the champagne. Bessie was pleasant about it and wished him well as he left her side to continue his search for Arthur.

Yet his search hadn’t continued for long before a familiar voice had him stopping in his tracks.

“Mr. Matthews! I didn’t expect to see you here!”

The blood drained from Hosea’s face as his eyes landed on a man he knew more than he would’ve liked to. Even dressed in a three-piece suit with his hair unusually kept, there was no mistaking the thin mustache and beard, nor the green necktie he wore.

“Colm,” he greeted coldly. 

He grinned. “I like the spectacles. It’s a good look on you.”

Hosea disregarded the insult disguised as a compliment. “What brings the likes of you here? A gathering like this is too civilized for you.”

He shrugged, and Hosea wanted nothing more than to wipe the smug smile off his face. “Mr. Davis wanted to reward me for my services. Turns out he needed someone to do some negotiatin’ with his competitors.”

He scoffed. There was no doubt in his mind that his ‘services’ for the Davis family had been questionable at best. “A man like you, negotiating? Now that I’d love to see.” 

“You act so high and mighty, Hosea, but you and Dutch aren’t much different from me.” He smirked. “Speaking of the devil, is he here? The two of you are inseparable, practically attached to the hip.”

His eyes narrowed at the question. Despite the peace that Dutch and Colm had agreed to, Hosea didn’t trust him one bit. While he and Dutch weren’t upstanding citizens and were comparable to degenerates, they at least had their own moral code. Colm O’Driscoll, on the other hand, didn’t care. As long as it benefited him and his gang, he readily stole, manipulated, and even killed. If he had a moral compass, his desires steered it, and it disgusted Hosea.

Yet before he could respond, he felt a pull at his sleeve. He looked down to see Arthur standing beside him, and he felt his stomach knot with fear.

“Is there anything I can get you, sir?”

“No, I’m quite alright, thank you,”

Arthur nodded, but before he could turn around, Colm grabbed his collar like one might seize a cat. The teen yelped in surprise as he was forced to face them again.

It took all of Hosea’s strength not to punch him for even so much as touching Arthur, and he had to draw a slow, deep breath in through his nose to calm his rage.

“Servants these days,” Colm tsked, “just employed brats is all you are. None of you have any sense of decency no more. Aren’t you gonna ask me if I want anything?”

Arthur’s wide eyes glanced up at Hosea who could only give him the faintest of nods. His gaze then shifted to Colm and he swallowed. “Is there anything you’d like, sir?”

“Why yes, actually. Go fetch me a glass of champagne, boy, and make it quick.” 

He nodded and whirled around to follow the order, nearly running into Dutch in the process. 

“Whoa there, son, where’re you going in such a hurry?”

“Dutch van der Linde,” Colm beamed, “it’s real good to see you.”

A deep crease formed between his brows when his eyes settled on the O’Driscoll, and he placed his hands protectively on both of Arthur’s shoulders. “Can’t say the feeling’s mutual.”

“‘Course not,” he sneered, “now if you would kindly let the boy go. He’s got an errand to run for me.”

“He ain’t yours to command,”

His dark eyes narrowed. “Just what in the hell are you talking about, Dutch?”

A cold sense of dread gripped Hosea. He’d been hoping to keep the rival gang leader in the dark about Arthur’s existence, but Dutch, as always, seemed to have other plans.

“The boy’s with us. Now, as much as I love a good reunion, I’m afraid we’ve long overstayed our welcome, and don’t you even think about following us.”

They collected their things after they left, and the air was thick as they rode back, although Arthur didn’t understand why. Judging by Hosea’s stiff posture and Dutch’s venom-laced tone, he knew the man known as Colm was bad news and couldn’t be trusted. There was bad blood between the three of them, and the reason why was a mystery to Arthur. Yet even with the mansion and the skeevy gentleman now miles behind them, there was still a charged silence between the two outlaws. By now, Arthur knew Hosea well enough to know he was livid. Although with who he wasn’t exactly sure. 

When they returned, Arthur removed everything he’d hidden in his boots and pockets. When the estimated value of all that he stole was just over a hundred dollars, both Hosea and Dutch praised him for a job well done. Their excitement over his success made him forget about Hosea’s anger and the mysterious gentleman at the mansion, and Dutch handed him a bottle of beer to celebrate his first robbery.

The teen went to bed soon after he’d finished the drink, and it wasn’t until twenty minutes had passed that Hosea pinned Dutch to where he sat across from him at the table with an icy stare. 

“What the hell is wrong with you?” He hissed.

“What’s wrong with _me?_” Dutch scoffed. “The self-righteous act don’t look good on you, never has.”

He ignored the comment. “There was no reason to let Colm know about Arthur!” 

“He was bound to find out about him sooner or later! The boy ain’t exactly uninvolved in our thieving.”

“I agree, but it could have been kept a secret until he was at least old enough to defend himself,”

Dutch clenched and unclenched his fists on the table. “When will you stop doubting me, Hosea?”

“I’m not doubting you, I’m just…” he sighed as his anger dissipated all at once, “I’m just worried for Arthur’s safety.”

“Listen, between the two of us, we can handle this. Arthur’s safe, and so help me, Colm ain’t ever gonna get close enough to the boy to lay a finger on him.”

“I hope you’re right, for the boy’s sake,” Hosea said before retiring to his tent.

It was about a week before they went into the city again. They figured it was enough time for anyone to forget that they were ever there, and certainly enough time for a meat industry magnate to forget about his missing pocket change. 

This time, the plan was to sell tickets to a play that was all the rage. Tickets for the show were, according to Hosea, hard to come by. Each night had a full crowd, and the _Chicago Tribune_ had only the finest things to say about the play.

Arthur didn't understand why people would dress up nice and pay money to watch people play pretend on a stage. He figured he could read a book and have a better seat and view, with more money in his pocket to boot, while doing so. 

It wasn't until the third night that he voiced his opinion. His fingers were like ice from the cold autumn air, and his feet ached from standing for so long for several days in a row.

"Don't you think the real con here is the theater?" He finally asked. 

Hosea stopped thumbing through his tickets to shoot the teen a dumbstruck look, unsure of where he had gone wrong in culturing him. "Excuse me?"

"Fancy people, paying too much money to feel important for a night, as they watch people play with too many words and toys," he explained with a bored expression, "hell, I could do that! A _book _could do that."

He shook his head and tucked all but two tickets back into his pocket. “Tell me, Arthur, have you ever actually seen a play?”

“No,”

“Today’s your lucky day, then,” he said as he handed him a ticket with a wink. “Here’s a ticket on me.”

Arthur rolled his eyes. “You’re _so _generous, Hosea. It ain’t like we scammed the idiot at the ticket counter and traded him moonshine for tickets to sell.”

“Of course not! Do I really look like a conman to you?”

He smirked. “Well, now that you mention it…”

Hosea laughed. “Come on, smartass, the show’s about to start.”

With not wearing formal attire, Hosea and Arthur sat closer to the back. Arthur exhaled a huff as he sat beside the older outlaw, making a point to slouch in his chair with his arms crossed over his chest. Yet, after the first two scenes, Arthur had straightened his posture, and he was on the edge of his seat by the fourth. Hosea had noticed the moment he showed interest, but didn’t dare to mention it. 

The play ended too soon in Arthur’s opinion, and he and Hosea slipped out of the theater just before the curtain call. Hosea could tell that the show had put the teen in a dreamy daze. He was oddly quiet for a while before he finally spoke up. Arthur went on and on about the play, gushing over the story and acting. His enthusiasm was contagious, and Hosea was happy to indulge him in the conversation for a while.

“So, what was that you were saying about plays earlier?” Hosea teased. 

“Alright, alright,” he relented, “I was wrong. Happy?” 

“Yes, but only because you enjoyed it, not because you were wrong,”

They walked down the sidewalk to where they’d hitched their horses. Along the way, they passed by several alleys. Hosea always kept his guard up when they did, keeping himself between Arthur and the dark alleyways as a safety measure. One could never predict when trouble would happen, and it was as they were passing one that he felt someone grab his arm. Hosea’s hand instinctively went for his gun as he whirled around to face the stranger. Yet he forced himself to relax when he realized it was a young woman.

She was just shy of twenty, and there was a deep sadness in her eyes that her forced smile couldn’t hide. With one glance, Hosea knew she didn’t want to be on the street. It wasn’t his business to pry, but the listlessness in her eyes hinted that she was only there to make ends meet and that the lifestyle she lived wasn’t her choice.

“You want some company, mister?” She asked.

“No,”

“You sure?”

“Positive,”

He saw her eyes flick over to Arthur before she looked away in shame. “I’m sorry, I—I didn’t see the boy.”

“He’s fine,” Hosea said as he dug through his satchel pulled out a stack of money. It was all of their night’s earnings, although he felt no sense of hesitation as he offered it to her. “Here, take this. Make a better life for yourself, one that’ll make you happier, anyway.”

Arthur furrowed his brow at the gesture, and he watched the two of them closely as he tried to grasp the situation at hand.

The woman’s eyes began to water as she stared at the cash, frozen in place with uncertainty. “I don’t know, I—”

“It’s okay, there aren’t any strings attached. Get yourself a place to stay if you don’t have one, and get a job you find worth working.”

She looked up at him before hesitantly taking the money. “You are doing the Lord’s work, sir.”

“I’m not so sure about that one,”

“Well, I am. Thank you for your kindness.”

Hosea tipped his hat as she went on her way before continuing on toward their horses. As they rounded the corner, Arthur eyed him. He didn’t understand why Hosea would give away so much money so freely. It hurt his head just trying to think of a reason why, and it was only when they’d mounted their horses that he finally decided to ask.

“Why’d you do that?”

“We have a code, Arthur,” Hosea said as they trotted down the street. “We help those who need helping and save those who need saving. If you remember anything we teach you, let it be that. There’s no room for killing here. If you rob and steal, it’s for the betterment of others. If you have to kill, God forbid, it’s to save someone.”

Arthur nodded and nudged Boadicea to a canter to match the pace Hosea had set.

They continued to sell tickets for the rest of the week, bribing the gentleman at the box office with liquor and premium cigarettes in order to get a portion of the sale. However, the night had been slower than others. There had only been a few dozen people who had bought a ticket, and there was still half a theater to fill. Arthur heaved a sigh as the seconds ticked by all too slowly. He’d asked Hosea for the time more than he’d needed to, and even Hosea seemed to be restless.

Hosea had been playing a game of twenty questions with the teen (who he had to teach how to play) when he heard someone call his name.

"Mr. Matthews?"

He turned, and there was no hiding his surprise when he saw that it was Bessie. He had honestly thought he’d never see her again, and to see her now did things to him he hadn’t felt in a long while. His stomach felt full to the brim with butterflies, and his heart raced in his chest as he flashed her a wide smile. "Miss Abbott! What a pleasant surprise.”

She mirrored his smile, albeit a little sheepishly. “I hardly recognized you without your spectacles.”

“Oh, yes, those were purely for the sake of fashion as insisted by a good friend of mine. Although, if you ask me, they were more of a pain in the arse than a handsome fashion statement.”

“I agree, you’re far more handsome without them, anyway,”

He felt a heat rise in his cheeks at the statement, and he was grateful that the only light came from the lit street lamps. “How are you on this fine evening?"

Arthur furrowed his brow as he eyed both of them, unsure how the two of them knew each other.

“I’m well, and I apologize for interrupting, but the kind man at the box office told me I could purchase a ticket from you. Is that true?”

“I'm afraid that's only half true,” he said as he handed all but two of the tickets to Arthur. “I have the tickets, but please, allow me to give you one on me."

"That's very kind of you."

"Do you have anyone to accompany you?"

"No,"

"May I?"

She nodded, and when Hosea offered his arm, she gladly took it.

"Go head back home, Arthur. We'll sell more tomorrow."

Arthur watched them walk to the entrance, hearing Hosea tell her about his own days in the theater. He frowned as they disappeared inside. He didn’t know what to make of the situation. He’d never seen Hosea act this way towards anyone but Dutch, and for him to be so taken by someone he didn’t know worried him. Who was she, really? Was she even trustworthy? Yet, despite his questions, he trusted that Hosea knew what he was doing.

When he returned to camp, Dutch had asked where Hosea had gone off to. He’d told him the truth, of course, that Hosea had accompanied a woman to the play they’d been selling tickets for. Dutch was oddly unsurprised by the news, and he thanked Arthur for telling him the truth before disappearing into his tent.

Arthur stayed up by the fire as he waited for Hosea’s return, and he found himself wishing he had his own pocket watch. Time dragged on as he alternated between watching the flames and writing in his journal. His cursive was far from neat compared to Hosea’s, but it was at least legible. He wrote about his thoughts, what had happened with Colm, and the disagreements that seemed to be more frequent between Dutch and Hosea.

He finally heard the sound of hooves hours later, or at least that’s what it felt like to Arthur. The teen eagerly closed his journal and looked over his shoulder to find Hosea hitching Silver Dollar and removing his tack. Leaving the warmth of the fire, he pulled his jacket close and made his way over to him.

Hosea looked over at him and offered a smile. He seemed happier, nearly glowing. It was strange, but Arthur didn’t say a word about it. 

“Arthur! How was the rest of your night?”

“Uneventful,” he replied. “And yours?”

“Unforgettable,” he said as he ruffled Arthur’s hair. “You’re still awake?”

He shrugged as he smoothed his hair. “I wanted to make sure you came back alright.”

Hosea paused as he looked him over, finding himself overcome by emotion. It was a gesture of devotion almost too raw for him to process, and all he could do was smile and wrap an arm around his shoulders as he walked Arthur to his tent.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You all have been so lovely and kind! <3 I'm so glad you all enjoyed the whole "Arthur goes to school" concept! 
> 
> Also, it turns out Bessie doesn't have a cannon maiden name, which resulted in far too much time being spent deciding what to make it. :')


	5. Perhaps Some Things Are Easier Said Than Done

As the days grew shorter, so did Hosea’s time spent in camp, although there was no need to guess why. Hosea had been upfront with Arthur about his developing relationship with Bessie, had even asked him if he wanted to join them on their adventures sometimes. Arthur had declined the first few times, fearing he would be intruding and that he might tarnish what Bessie felt for Hosea. In his mind, he had a running streak for ruining things for others, and the last thing he wanted was to ruin something that made Hosea happy.

Yet, the older outlaw continued to insist that he come, and when he mentioned that Bessie had wanted to meet him officially, Arthur found that he could no longer resist Hosea’s offer.

The air was damp with a bitter cold that seeped into Arthur’s bones as they rode into the city. Hosea mentioned that the lake had something to do with it, although he wasn’t sure how true that was. All he knew was that it had been cold enough for the sky to drop a foot of snow in one night and that he’d been miserable ever since. It made him grateful that the day’s plans included spending the next few hours at the theater where it would be warm inside. 

There was a new show that had come to town, one that Bessie had been looking forward to for a while. Both she and Hosea had read the book, and Arthur only knew this because Hosea had told him how he regretted not reading _A Christmas Carol _to him sooner. She had met them at the theater, wearing a long coat with her hands tucked into a muff. Hosea took her coat for her when they stepped inside, and Arthur found himself longing for a warmer jacket of his own.

Arthur took his seat and made himself comfortable as he tried to rub some warmth into his arms. He was expecting Hosea to sit next to him but was surprised when Bessie sat there instead.

She met his confused look with a gentle smile. “Mind if I sit here?”

“No, ma’am,”

Bessie thanked him and retrieved her coat from Hosea before draping it around his shoulders. “Here, borrow this as long as you need it. The winters here are something fierce. I’m surprised Hosea hasn’t bought you a thicker jacket by now.”

“Trust me, I have, and he’s _already _outgrown it!” Hosea said. 

She gave Arthur a pleasantly surprised look. “Have you now?” 

Arthur only nodded, unsure why he felt shy all of a sudden.

“My goodness, you’ll be taller than Hosea at this rate!”

“And don’t forget stronger, the boy already chops wood better than I can,”

Arthur felt his face flush from their flattery, and he was grateful for the theater’s dim lighting. 

The story told by the stage actors was unlike any Arthur had read. It was beautiful and tragic, mystifying and sobering. The narrative pulled at his heart in all sorts of ways, some of which he didn’t fully understand, and he even saw Bessie wipe away a tear or two.

When the show ended, Arthur walked ahead of them as they made their way to an eatery that was nestled in the next block over. He didn’t pay attention to Hosea and Bessie’s conversation, his focus more on the thick snow as he traipsed through it. Arthur forgot about the cold for a moment as he allowed himself to enjoy the crunch of snow underneath his feet. It was a beautiful white and was mostly untouched as most of the city folk had opted to stay inside for the day.

His thoughts were rudely interrupted when he felt something cold and hard hit the back of his head. A yelp escaped him, and he whirled around to find a mischievous grin on Hosea’s face. Bessie, on the other hand, had covered her mouth with her hands as she looked on with wide eyes.

Arthur scowled as he shook the snow out of his scarf, wincing as some managed to get between the fabric and the nape of his neck. “What the hell was that for?” 

“Haven’t you had a snowball fight before?”

“A _what?_” 

“Well, that’s not fair,” Bessie said as she walked over to Arthur. “You have to show him how to make a snowball before you throw one at him!”

The process wasn’t as hard as Arthur thought it would be, and after Bessie had taught him how to make a proper snowball, he and Hosea spent the next few minutes tossing snowballs at each other. Of course, Hosea had the advantage of experience, but as soon as Bessie had distracted him (for Arthur’s sake) by mentioning she was getting cold, Arthur took the opportunity to throw one right at his face. Between the impact and the surprise, Hosea ended up reaching out for something to hold onto as he stumbled backward. His hand found purchase on Bessie’s long sleeve, and without meaning to, he pulled her down with him as he fell. All she could do was gasp in surprise before landing on top of him, and Arthur gaped in horror. Yet before he could apologize, the two of them began to laugh while lying in the snow. 

The sight confused him. Surely they both had snow all over them, which would no doubt make their jackets cold, damp, and useless. He shook his head and ran over to them before offering Bessie a hand to help her up. She thanked him and took it, and once she was up, Hosea rose to his feet and helped brush the snow off her coat before doing the same for himself. Arthur tried to apologize as he helped Hosea, but the older outlaw wouldn’t have it. Instead, he insisted it was perfectly fair and that he might have even deserved it.

The warmth that radiated from the wood stove inside the eatery was a comfort that all three of them welcomed. Arthur was grateful for the soup and coffee that was available. For the longest time, he had refused to even try the drink. He’d seen Hosea make it more times than he could count. It looked disgusting, and the earthy smell of the dark liquid didn’t make it any more appetizing. Yet somehow, Hosea had convinced him to try the stuff, saying he’d buy him a pack of cigarettes for giving it a taste. Much to Arthur’s surprise, he found he actually enjoyed it, and it even became a habit to spend his wintry mornings with Hosea sharing a tin pot of fresh coffee.

They sat at a wooden table that was closer to the stove and chatted as they warmed up, and Arthur wasn’t sure what to make of Bessie’s genuine interest in who he was. The teen had prepared himself to be forgotten by the pair, like a fifth wheel to a coach, and he was pleasantly surprised to feel like they _wanted _him there with them. The thought caused something to stir inside him. It frightened him at first by how warm it made him feel, and the strength of it had his heart racing. His alarm, however, didn’t last long as he quickly realized that the feeling, whatever it was, was pleasant, even welcomed. 

After a while, Arthur excused himself from their company. The last thing he wanted to do was wear out his welcome, although he had to insist several times that he was sure to convince Hosea that he was fine. He’d promised he’d help Dutch find an abandoned cabin anyway, and the sooner they accomplished that, the sooner they’d be out of the weather that was only bound to get colder.

Hosea watched Arthur walk down the sidewalk for as long as he could before looking down at his coffee. He scratched the back of his neck and drew a deep breath. “Bessie, there’s something I need to tell you.”

“Yes?” She asked as she tilted her head.

He dared to meet her unwavering kind gaze and was surprised to find that it encouraged him to tell her what had been on his mind. “I’m afraid I haven’t been completely honest with you about who I am.”

“Well, I hope you aren’t about to tell me you’re some prince seeking a suitable spouse to be his future queen,” she teased. “A life in a gilded cage isn’t for me.”

He laughed and shook his head. “No, I’m afraid it’s worse than that.”

“You killed a man?” 

“Can’t say I haven’t,” he replied. “Not in cold blood, for the record. It was self-defense.”

“Do you have a bounty on your head?”

“Yes, but not for that. I’m a conman, a degenerate even, been one for a long while now.” 

She eyed him as she processed his words, her keen gaze piercing him like always. “Something tells me there’s more to it than that.”

He shrugged. “Well, there’s another gentleman and a woman in our group, and we have a code very much like Robin Hood and his band of merry men. We save those who need saving and help those who need helping.”

“How very noble of you,” she grinned.

Hosea snorted. “Noble, now that’s one I haven’t heard before.”

The corner of her mouth quirked upwards. “Is that all? That you’re a con artist?” 

He looked down and traced the grain of the wooden table as he furrowed his brow. “No, there’s something else you should know.”

“And that is?”

“The gentleman I mentioned, well, he and I used to have an...intimate relationship. It’s well run its course, and both of us have moved on, but I thought you deserved to know before we pursue this any further.”

There was a long pause that followed, and Hosea felt his heart sink. He didn’t dare to look up at Bessie, fearing he would see disgust written on her face. Hosea’s heart was still mending from letting Dutch go, and he wasn’t sure what another heartbreak would do to him.

After what felt like an eternity, he saw Bessie reach across the table to take his hand in hers. He mustered the courage to look her in the eye where he found anything but disgust and hatred.

“I’m not scared off that easily, Hosea,” she said as she gave his hand a gentle squeeze. 

He was speechless for a moment, finding her acceptance nearly too good to be true. “None of what I told you bothers you?”

“No, because I know the kind of man that you are. You’re a gentleman who’s loyal, compassionate, and intelligent.” She winked at him. “Besides, I had a feeling you were a thief.”

“Oh?” He asked with a grin. “What gave you that idea?”

“Well, no one else has managed to steal my heart quite like the way you have,”

Hosea felt a warmth creep into his cheeks at that as he chuckled to himself.

They continued to chat for a while before Hosea walked her to her home. It was a beautiful house nestled in a quiet neighborhood in the city. However, before they parted ways, she invited him and the others over for Christmas. Her invitation brought a smile to his face, and he was happy to accept it. After giving her cheek a peck, he bade her goodbye and started his walk back to where he’d hitched Silver Dollar.

It didn’t come as a surprise to Arthur when snow began to fall around him again. He had felt the chill of it when he and Dutch had first set out, and they both knew that it was only a matter of time before it started snowing once more. Arthur was grateful Dutch had decided to try to find a cabin that they could hole up in, although the thought crossed his mind that it wouldn’t have hurt to start their search sooner. Winters in Illinois could be unforgiving. There was no telling when a new wave of cold would grip the state.

He nudged Boadicea to a trot to ride beside Dutch. Arthur couldn’t tell where they were anymore. The blanket of snow that covered their surroundings had everything looking the same to his untrained eyes, and riding closer to Dutch soothed the unease he felt. Other than the sound of their horses plodding through the snow, the forest was unnaturally silent. 

Dutch drew a deep breath of the cold air. “Beautiful, isn’t it?”

“Sure, but don’t you think it’s a bit quiet?”

“That’s what makes it beautiful! Makes you feel like you’re the only thing alive.”

It was that exact thought that made Arthur feel uneasy, but he held his tongue. 

Eventually, the silhouette of a cabin appeared through the thick trees. It was the best thing Arthur had seen since riding out with Dutch. Settling down in a place with real walls and a roof was suddenly the only thing Arthur wanted to do, but he resisted the urge to gallop over to it. Until they reached the cabin, there was no telling if it was inhabited, and if it was, there was a chance that the strangers inside were hostile. 

They hitched their horses within walking distance of the cabin, and Arthur watched as Dutch squinted at the chimney. 

“No smoke,” he said, “if we’re lucky, we may have just found our new home.” 

Arthur nodded, and despite Dutch’s words, he saw him rest his hand on one of his holstered revolvers.

They cautiously made their way to the front door. Dutch then signaled for Arthur to step back before he gave the wooden door a hefty knock. When there was no answer, he drew his revolver and eased the door open. He eyed the interior from where he stood with his weapon raised, and once he had found that it was empty, he waved for Arthur to follow him inside. 

The cabin was a decent size, having two separate rooms, a living room, and a loft. They had hit the jackpot, and Arthur was more than happy to search the place for supplies when Dutch instructed him to. While he opened drawers and cabinets, Dutch worked on getting the wood-burning stove going. The cabin had started to warm up by the time Arthur finished, and both of them sat in front of the stove to stave off the cold that still gripped them.

“So,” Dutch finally said after a while, “how was your trip to the theater with Hosea and his lady friend?” 

He shrugged. “I liked it.”

“Good,” he replied. 

There was a pause in their conversation, and Arthur could feel Dutch eyeing him.

“What do you think of her?”

Arthur looked away from the fire in the stove to meet his inquisitive stare. “Miss Abbott? She’s nice. She taught me how to make a snowball.”

Dutch snorted at that. “Did she now?” 

He nodded.

There was another lull, although it was longer this time before Dutch spoke again.

“I’m going to help Susan pack up camp once Hosea decides to come back and move our things here,” he said as he handed Arthur one of his revolvers. “If anyone comes through that door, you send them running, alright?”

“Yessir,”

Arthur’s first real Christmas was surreal and unlike anything he dreamed it could ever be. Bessie had invited all of them to her house for the holiday, a place that she assured was warm and safe. The house was beautifully decorated with garland that had ribbon wrapped around it, and on the tree hung a variety of ornaments that were accompanied by lit candles. It was a sight he’d only seen when passing by the windows of strangers’ houses, and he could hardly believe he was now experiencing it himself. 

Hosea hung back and leaned against the doorframe to the parlor. As he watched the festivities, he couldn’t help but smile to himself at how well the others got along with Bessie. She fit right in with them with her beatific grace with a delightful personality, and his heart fluttered in his chest at the thought. Susan seemed to be relieved to be having a conversation with another woman, and Hosea couldn’t remember the last time he’d heard her laugh so hard. A hand on his shoulder pulled him out of his musings, and he looked over to find Dutch by his side.

“Well?” Hosea asked quietly. “Your thoughts?”

“She’s a fine woman,” he replied before taking a puff of his cigar. “Does she know?”

He quirked an eyebrow, unsure as to if he was referring to their complicated history or the gang. “About what?”

“Does she know about what we are?”

“She does,”

“_And?_”

Hosea frowned. He could tell by the impatient tone in his voice that Dutch was trying to get at something, although he wasn’t entirely sure what. Of course, he had an idea as to what it was. Once Hosea started pursuing Bessie, Dutch had distanced himself. His behavior towards him had been stiff and cold since Hosea had told him the news. While a part of him knew that both of them had residual feelings for each other, it frustrated him that Dutch dared to question him _now_ of all times, especially when he had done his best to respect Dutch’s relationship with Susan.

“Why are you picking _today_ of all days to ask me these questions? You could’ve chosen any other day. Hell, I even invited you to meet her several times.”

Dutch ignored his question, his dark eyes holding Hosea’s gaze as he gestured to where the others were gathered by the tree. “So is it us, or her?”

He straightened himself. “That isn’t even a question, Dutch. It’s a false dilemma, and you know it. What’s gotten into you?” 

He sighed as his eyes flicked over to where Susan, Arthur, and Bessie were. “You’re my best friend, Hosea. I don’t know what I’d do without you by my side.”

Hosea forced himself to lower his defenses once again and nudged his side with his elbow. “Hey, I’m not going anywhere anytime soon. You can’t get rid of me that easily.”

Dutch drew a deep breath. “Good.”

The two of them looked on in comfortable silence for a while. Yet, Dutch had never been one for silence, and it wasn’t long before he broke it with a question.

“You planin’ on marrying her?”

The question, while unexpected, wasn’t surprising. Hosea eyed him for a moment, and he already knew the next question that was bound to come. “I’m thinking about it.”

"Do you love her?"

"Yes,"

Dutch lowered his voice. "And what about me?"

"You asked me to let you go," Hosea replied gently. "Of course I love you, but you're no longer mine, nor I yours."

Dutch's eyes lowered to the wood floor, and his expression was tight as he nodded to himself. "I know."

Hosea reached for his hand and gave it a gentle squeeze before flashing him a wry smile. “I’m too old for you, anyway.” 

He snorted. “That was the best part! Besides, you hardly look it.”

He rolled his eyes. “You know I’ve never been one for baseless flattery.”

“That ain’t true, and you don’t give yourself enough credit,”

“And you give yourself too much,”

Dutch stared at him for a while before taking another puff of his cigar as his gaze shifted to Bessie. “You know, I’d kiss you if you weren’t taken.”

Hosea chuckled to himself before pressing his lips to the back of his hand. He then let go and made his way over to Arthur and mussed his hair. The teen huffed as he fixed it and rose to his feet when Hosea gestured for him to follow. Arthur furrowed his brow as Hosea led him into another room. He wasn’t sure what he was up to, and when he saw Hosea pick up a narrow, foot-long box wrapped in brown paper, he stopped in his tracks. His eyes flicked up to Hosea’s, thoroughly confused.

“What’s that?” 

Hosea shrugged as he walked over. “You’ll have to open it to find out.”

Arthur’s frown deepened as he was handed the package. “No, I mean why are you giving this to me?” 

“It’s Christmas, you clown. It’s a gift.” He teased with a smile. “Now go on, open it!”

Arthur rolled his eyes and tore away the packaging to reveal a wooden box. As he held it in one arm, he opened it and felt his jaw drop at the sight. It was a brand new Schoefield revolver, and he had hardly recovered from his surprise when he felt a hand on his shoulder. Arthur looked over to find Dutch had joined the two of them with a wide smile on his face.

“We thought it was about time you got your own gun,” he said.

Arthur wasn’t sure what to say. The firearm was beautiful, and he could hardly believe that it was just for him. He set the box down on a small table and gingerly lifted the weapon from its case to get a closer look. It was undoubtedly brand new, and a smile stretched across his face as he looked up at Dutch and Hosea.

After setting the revolver aside, he thanked them both repeatedly. They were far kinder than they needed to be, in Arthur’s opinion, and while neither of them expected anything in return, the teen still knew he would be forever indebted to them. Not just for the revolver, of course, but for everything. From taking him in despite being difficult to handle to caring for him as if he were their own flesh and blood. It amazed Arthur, and it even had him looking up to Dutch and Hosea with awe and reverence. 

The cold had finally started to lose its bite by mid-March, and Arthur couldn’t be happier. He had missed the warmth of the sun and the vibrant greenery that was returning with the coming of spring. Of course, when the first truly warm day arrived, Dutch and Hosea decided to celebrate by going fishing. There was a lake not far from their cabin, and a fishing trip was long overdue. As Hosea packed his fishing rod into his saddlebag, he noticed Arthur watching him. He was leaning against their home, arms folded across his chest. However, the teen’s feigned look of disinterest was entirely unsuccessful, and Hosea couldn’t help the grin that pulled at the corner of his mouth.

“Want to go fishing with us, Arthur?” He asked.

“I ain’t much of a fisherman,”

“Oh come on, it isn’t that difficult,”

“I dunno…”

“Hosea’s an expert fisherman,” Dutch said before mounting the Count. “He’ll teach you well.”

Arthur glanced at them both before giving in with a sigh. “Fine, but don’t say I didn’t warn ya.”

They rode out to a spot that Hosea claimed was the best. Once their horses were hitched and their fishing rods were out, Hosea gave Arthur a quick fishing lesson. He taught him the basics, instructing him which lures were best and when to use worms as bait as well as the art of reeling in the line at a slow and steady pace. 

Yet, despite his teachings and the many tips Hosea gave Arthur, the boy could not get the hang of fishing. The teen mostly caught twigs and algae, and he even nearly lost his fishing pole when he’d unintentionally hooked a larger fish. He’d gone in after the rod swearing loudly at the fish. Of course, neither Dutch nor Hosea had been much help then. Both men had found it hysterical until Dutch nearly lost his own fishing pole from laughing so hard.

By the time Arthur returned, he was soaked up to his chest. His expression was somewhere between a pout and a scowl as he fetched his gambler hat that had fallen into the water amid all the commotion. Arthur muttered under his breath as he made his way back to shore, and Hosea was laughing so hard he had to wipe away tears.

Arthur, however, was not at all amused, as he squeezed out what water he could from his clothes and vowed to never go fishing with the two of them again. Hosea didn’t believe it for a second, but he sent the boy home anyway to warm up and get himself into some dry clothes.

As the pounding of Boadicea’s hooves faded, so did Hosea’s mirth, and he waited until the sound had disappeared completely before casting a glance at Dutch. He studied him as he continued to fish. Their friendship had healed some since their conversation at Christmas, resembling more of what it once was for the first time in a long while. Hosea dropped his gaze to his folded hands at the thought as he furrowed his brow. His eyes landed on the wedding ring around his finger, still unused to the gold band that glimmered in the sun. He had asked Bessie to marry him about two weeks ago, and he had been genuinely surprised when she said ‘yes’. The ceremony had been a small one, with the attendees being Dutch, Susan, Arthur, and Bessie’s brother.

Being married, by law especially, felt strange to him. He never thought he’d be the kind of man to want such a thing, at least not until he met Bessie. It left him feeling both giddy and nervous. Hosea had considered himself as a degenerate conman for most of his life, had even been okay with that title. Now, all he wanted was to be better than that, but he had a long way to go before he was the man she deserved. He wasn’t even sure if it was possible, but it was certainly worth trying.

Which, unfortunately, meant he had to at least try living as an upstanding citizen in society, and as conflicted as he was over the thought, he knew that meant he had to leave the gang.

Hosea drew a deep breath. The news wouldn’t be easy to break to Dutch, and it would no doubt cause a strong reaction. Yet, he was more concerned over the request he wanted to make. It was something that had been running relentlessly through his mind, over and over again, which only made his sleep restless and fitful. 

He swallowed and looked up at Dutch. “Thanks again for coming to my wedding.”

“Of course, Hosea, I wouldn’t have missed it for the world!”

He smiled and stared out at the water that reflected the blue, cloudless sky. “There’s something I’ve been meaning to tell you.”

“Oh?”

“Bessie and I are taking a train to New Hanover tomorrow morning,”

Dutch glanced at him with a raised eyebrow. “How long do you plan on vacationing there?”

“We’re not,”

He frowned as he easily read between the lines. There was a long and heavy silence as they stared at each other, and Hosea braced himself for his response. 

“You’re leaving?”

“She deserves a better life than this,”

Dutch scoffed as he reeled in his line. “That siren has been singing in your ear, Hosea. When are you going to see that?”

He narrowed his eyes. “She hasn’t. Not once has she complained about this kind of life, nor judged us for it. If anything, I’m the one to blame. I made the decision, Dutch.”

He set his rod to the side, and his fiery gaze met Hosea’s. Each word he spoke was laced with venom. “You said you’d never leave my side.”

“Things change,” he replied evenly, “and I want to take Arthur with me.”

“You _what?_” He demanded.

“This life that we live isn’t easy, Dutch. He’s just a boy.”

He took a step closer to him. “You can’t just remove him from his only home—”

“This isn’t a home!” Hosea snapped as he rose to his feet.

Dutch was breathing hard through his nose by now, his anger burning bright behind his eyes. “He ain’t fit for the quiet life, _none_ of us are, but go ahead. Be my guest and give it a try with your new _wife_, but you ain’t taking the boy!”

He set his jaw and ignored the way his heart raced. Their conversation was running the course he feared it’d run, and there was nothing he could do about it. “Please, Dutch, that boy has seen too much already and—”

“And he’ll live, just as we have. This is all he knows.”

His heart twisted painfully in his chest. He wanted nothing more than for Arthur to come with him, but Dutch had made up his mind, and there was no convincing him otherwise.

“Alright,” Hosea said, reluctantly relenting to Dutch, “but at least tell him I said goodbye, and that I didn’t tell him in person because I’m not good at them.”

Dutch stared out at the treeline for a while, and Hosea was relieved when he finally nodded. “I will, but you do know he ain’t gonna be the least bit happy about this.”

“You don’t think I know that? Believe me, I wish I could tell him myself, but he’ll refuse to stay if I do.”

“Very well,” he sighed, “I’ll tell him myself in the morning.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for your patience friends with this update! 
> 
> Between work and fighting the start of a cold, time and motivation have been limited, but thank you for sticking around regardless!
> 
> ALSO a special thank you to Caps_Kat for beta reading this chapter <3


	6. The Fine Line in a Crooked Game

Arthur blinked open his eyes as the light poured in through the loft’s window. It was blinding, and while he knew it was early in the morning, he didn’t mind. It was one of the many habits he'd picked up from Hosea, and he stretched before looking up at the golden morning sky. It was another clear day that would be perfect for hunting, that is if Hosea didn’t drag him out to the lake to fish again.

He frowned then, noticing that the usual smell of coffee percolating in the cabin was strikingly absent. Arthur sat up and peered over the ledge of his loft, and seeing Hosea and Bessie’s door open only confused him further. He hastily climbed down the ladder to investigate and looked inside their room only to find that their belongings were gone. 

His eyes widened, and the blood drained from his face at the sight.

His alarm shook him of his sleepy daze, and he ran outside without hesitation only to feel a sense of dread pool in his stomach. Silver Dollar was nowhere to be seen, and he desperately scanned his surroundings for any sign of Hosea only to find none. He did, however, find Dutch standing a few paces away from the treeline smoking a cigar. Miss Grimshaw stood beside him, and Arthur instantly recognized the way she was rubbing his back.

She was trying to comfort him, and there was a part of Arthur that didn’t want to know why. Yet, despite fearing the answer, he forced himself to walk over to them.

“Dutch? Where’s Hosea?” 

Dutch turned to face him, and his expression was tight as he took a puff and blew out the smoke. “He...He decided to take up an honest life. They both left about an hour ago. I’m sorry, son.”

He frowned. “He left?”

“He wanted me to pass along his goodbye to you, and that he would write,”

“Did they take the train?”

“They did,”

Arthur wasted no time running over to Boadicea and unhitching her. Dutch tried to call after him, but the teen had already mounted her and was racing down the worn path before he could stop him.

Dutch swore loudly before he pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration, and he was thankful that the boy couldn’t really go anywhere further than Chicago. Arthur hadn’t asked where Hosea had gone, and surely the teen knew there was nowhere else he could go. 

Boadicea was panting hard and sweating by the time they reached the train station. In the back of his mind, he felt guilty for pushing her as hard as he did. He knew, deep down, that he didn’t stand a chance at finding Hosea before he left, but Arthur ignored the thought as he hitched his horse by a water trough. He then ran to the wooden platform, his eyes searching for any sign of Bessie and Hosea. He pushed through the crowd, thankful for the few inches he had gained in height over the last few months, as he peered over shoulders. Arthur even dared to call out their names twice, but despite his efforts, his search had been fruitless.

With a sigh, he took a seat on a bench just outside the station and rested his head in his hands. He felt sick to his stomach, wondering if he was to blame for Hosea’s sudden departure. His mind recalled the last two weeks as he tried to uncover the reason why the older outlaw had left. Had it been something he’d said or done? Was Hosea tired of looking after him and teaching him things he should’ve already known? Or was he a surrogate child, a burden, that Bessie and Hosea never asked for?

Arthur lifted his head from his hands and watched as the next train scraped along the iron toward the station. He couldn’t blame them for wanting to start a new life that was free from the weight that he and the gang must’ve been on their new marriage. They deserved it, and if that made Hosea happier, Arthur figured he needed to learn how to deal with his absence despite the simmering anger he felt.

He sensed someone take a seat beside him and looked over to find that it was Dutch. His brow furrowed, surprised that the outlaw had followed him at all. 

“Dutch? What are you doing here?”

“I came to make sure you didn’t do anything irrational,” he replied. “And you didn’t let me finish back at the cabin.”

“What do you mean?”

Dutch heaved a sigh, his eyebrows tightly drawn together as he thought over his words. “Hosea told me yesterday he was leaving, and the only reason he didn’t say goodbye to you himself was because he knew you’d try to follow him.”

Arthur processed his words as his eyes flicked to a group of people boarding a train. “He didn’t want me around?”

“No son, that’s not—” he stopped mid-sentence and muttered under his breath. He didn’t want to tell Arthur that he was the reason he’d been forced to stay behind. Dutch knew that Arthur was closer to Hosea, even envied the relationship they had. Bringing in Arthur was _his _idea, and at the start, Hosea had wanted nothing to do with the teen. Yet, it was the older outlaw who had profited the most from taking in the boy. While he refused to admit it, he had denied Hosea’s request out of jealousy. Both his reasons and excuses for keeping Arthur for himself had been petty, and what frustrated him was that Hosea knew it.

Dutch shook his head and wrapped an arm around Arthur’s shoulders before continuing. “Listen, Arthur, the civilized life, is a life in a cage. It may be a livin’, but it is _us_ who are thriving. We get to live life to the fullest, all while helping those in need.”

“Right, we help those who need helping and save those who need saving,”

Dutch quirked an eyebrow. “Is that what Hosea told you?”

He nodded.

He breathed out a sharp scoff. “That’s only part of it, son! Sure, we save fellers who need saving, but we also kill fellers who need killing, and feed fellers as need feeding.”

Arthur glanced at him. He wasn’t sure how he felt about the killing part. Hosea had told him there wasn’t room for killing in their gang unless it meant saving someone, but Arthur knew it wasn’t his place to challenge Dutch.

Dutch rose to his feet and signaled for Arthur to follow. The teen did as he was told, and the two of them rode back to camp in silence. After hitching their horses, Susan made her way over to Arthur to pull him into a tight embrace. Dutch pretended not to notice as he fed his horse an oatcake. Once Arthur had stepped inside (as per Susan’s request after mentioning she’d made coffee), she walked around the Count and placed a hand on Dutch’s shoulder.

“Thank you for finding him and bringing him home,” she said.

“Boy nearly hopped on a damn train,” he muttered. “He might be damn near impossible these next few weeks.”

Susan gave him a look as she folded her arms across her chest. “Well, if you ask me, it’s about time you start doing your part in raising him.”

He paused as he glared at her. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means you’ve been slacking when it comes to caring for that boy,”

“I don’t have time to listen to your nagging,” he huffed as he made his way toward the door.

Susan stopped him by grabbing his arm. When he turned to face her, there was a deep crease carved between her eyebrows.

“You have every right to be angry with Hosea, but Arthur needs you now more than ever,”

“You don’t think I know that?” He shot back. 

She didn’t flinch at his tone. Instead, she simply let go of his arm as she eyed him. “It’s hard to tell sometimes.”

And with that, he stormed off towards the treeline.

Arthur had always been in the habit of writing in his journal, but ever since Hosea had left, it was hard to find him without his pencil in hand. He would spend hours working over the pages, covering them in words and drawings, and if he wasn’t in his journal, his nose was in a book. The behavior concerned Dutch. Sure, the boy, like Hosea, wasn’t known for being the outgoing sort, but the constant writing and drawing hadn’t cropped up until now. What frustrated Dutch the most about it was the fact that there was nothing he could do to pull him away from his journal for more than two hours. It wasn’t until two weeks later that Dutch had stumbled upon his solution just outside a small ranch on the outskirts of the city. 

Bringing the bundle back had been an undertaking of its own. He’d almost dropped it a few times as it squirmed in his arms, but the result was worth it. When he’d returned to the cabin and dismounted his horse, the sheer delight on Arthur’s face was worth all the trouble. He handed him the pup, and Dutch couldn’t help but mirror his wide smile. It had been the first time since Hosea’s departure that he’d seen him so happy. Dutch was proud of himself for coming up with the idea, and there was no mistaking the gratitude in Arthur’s eyes. 

_He _had caused that.

“He’s a Redbone Coonhound,” Dutch said as he petted the pup’s head, “he’s yours.”

He was speechless as he held the puppy in his arms. He looked to be around three months old and barely fit in his arms, and Arthur could feel the persistent sadness he’d felt ebb as the pup licked at his face and nip at his chin.

“Well? Aren’t you gonna name him?”

Arthur looked up at Dutch. “Me?”

“He is _your _dog!”

His gaze shifted to the puppy wiggling in his arms, his tail wagging fervently. “I think I’ll name him Copper.”

Dutch snorted at the unoriginal name but chose to keep his opinion to himself. “Now, just remember he’s _your _responsibility. He’ll need proper training and care.”

“Yessir,” he said, “thank you, Dutch, I don’t know what to say.”

“Don’t mention it, son,” he replied as he made his way to the cabin.

Had Dutch known how much a coonhound would bay and bark, he would’ve gotten Arthur something that was quieter. Copper’s instincts never failed to kick in when he caught wind of something, and while he knew it would come in handy later for hunting, Dutch had little patience for when the pup would bay at a whim. 

Yet, he couldn’t complain much. His plan to get Arthur out of his books and journal had worked. He spent most hours either training or playing with Copper, and Dutch was glad to find him happier. Dutch had tried to hold a grudge against Hosea on account that the older outlaw had taken the teen’s happiness with him, and he was relieved that his plan to bring that back to Arthur had worked. They didn’t need Hosea to be happy, and they could manage to be successful without him.

At least, that’s what Dutch tried to convince himself to believe. Despite the bitter anger he felt towards Hosea, he missed him, missed his gentleness and his wise counsel. His quips and dry wit. 

Another round of baying disrupted Dutch’s train of thought, and for once, he was grateful for it. He looked up from his book over to where Arthur and Copper were wrestling. While he shook his head at the sight, he couldn’t help the smile that pulled at the corner of his mouth. They both had grown considerably in the last two months. He still had a foot over the boy, but there was no mistaking the muscles he was growing into. Slowly but surely, Arthur was becoming a force to be reckoned with, and Dutch felt a swell of pride in his chest at the thought. 

Together, there wouldn’t be much that could stop them. He had the plans and grand schemes, and while Arthur had some more growing to do, he still had the brawn. All Arthur needed was some experience and a few more lessons, and now that Susan had broken it off with him, Dutch had all the time in the world.

He rose to his feet and walked over to where Arthur lay in the grass with Copper standing over him. The dog was determined to lick every inch of his face and nipped at his hair, and Arthur let him. He laughed as he made a half-assed attempt to shield himself with his arms, to which Copper easily nosed underneath to continue his assault. 

Dutch rolled his eyes before gently nudging Arthur’s side with his boot. He looked up at him and called for Copper to get off him before sitting up. However, the hound only sat for a brief moment before his tail began to wag once more as he gingerly nibbled at his ear. 

Arthur laughed and pushed his snout away. “Yeah, Dutch?” 

“What do you say we go into town and fool a few unsuspecting fellers?” 

“You already bored?” He asked as the corner of his mouth quirked upwards in the shape of a crooked grin.

Dutch frowned. He knew Arthur had been silently observing all that had occurred over the last few months, and he also knew there was more to his question than the teen let on. “We’re running low on money and supplies. It’s been a while since we last swindled someone.” 

Arthur rolled his eyes as he scratched at Copper’s shoulder. “What share do I take from this one?”

“Well,” he shrugged, “that depends.”

“Fifty-fifty,”

“Thirty-seventy,”

“Forty-sixty and a pack of cigarettes,”

“Fine,” Dutch huffed as he silently blamed Hosea for teaching the teen how to bargain so well. “Forty-sixty it is.”

“And a pack of—”

“Yes, I heard you! There’s no need to repeat yourself!”

Arthur smirked as he stood and let Copper inside a fenced-in area he had built himself. The pup still wasn’t completely house trained, and with the late spring weather, the fenced area was a perfect compromise for not taking the dog with him when he left to go into town.

They rode into the city and stopped at a saloon to scout out potential targets. As they stood at the bar, they both ordered a glass of whiskey. Dutch raised the glass to his lips as his keen eyes scanned the other patrons. He was looking for the usual sort they exploited, rich, gullible, and oblivious. Arthur did the same as he took a swig before his eyes flicked to Dutch. He wasn’t sure what the man had in mind, nor what role he wanted him to play, but before he could ask, he felt someone bump into his side. 

Arthur hissed out a ‘watch it’, and when he saw the man hastily tuck something into his pocket as he hurried out of the saloon, he swore loudly. 

“He just pickpocketed me!”

Dutch chuckled to himself as he lifted his glass to his lips. “And? What are you going to do about it? Stand there like a jackass?” 

Arthur muttered under his breath as he pushed past some patrons to pursue the man. When the stranger heard him giving chase, he glanced over his shoulder and broke out into a run. Arthur easily picked up his pace, and as the man turned into an alley, he smirked. While Arthur didn’t know the streets of Chicago like the back of his hand, he knew a few, and he especially knew that this one, in particular, turned into a dead end. Arthur slowed down as he rounded the corner to find the man breathing heavy as he searched for a means of escape. 

“Listen, we can either do this the easy way or the hard way,” he said as he held up his hands. The sound of hooves trotting along the sidewalk pulled his attention away from the stranger, and he turned just in time to see Dutch ride up to the alley’s entrance and dismount.

“Well, Arthur, are you going to teach this man a lesson or not?”

He turned to study the man. He looked harmless, and he’d already taken all that he’d stolen out of his pocket. “Does he need one?”

“That’s for you to decide,” he mused, “but, knowing his type, he’ll probably steal again. What if he decides to rob some poor unsuspecting widow? Or a single father working his ass off in the factories? Hell, he stole from you, and you hardly look your own age!” 

He hesitated as he eyed the man. “I dunno, Dutch, he looks kinda harmless.”

“Do you know how many people assumed Hosea was harmless only to wind up robbed or dead?” He scoffed. “It’s your decision, but know that things aren’t always as they seem.”

Arthur weighed his options. While it didn’t feel right, he knew that Dutch had a point. There was no telling if the man shaking in front of him was truly as innocuous as he looked. After all, some had assumed the same of his father, and those who did had wound up robbed, killed, or worse. 

He retrieved what had been stolen from him before seizing the man by his collar. The stranger’s eyes flew wide as Arthur drew back his fist and made heavy contact with his jaw. He slugged the man a few more times, keeping him on his feet by just the collar of his shirt. The strength behind each of his blows surprised Arthur. He knew he’d been growing stronger, but he never imagined he could cause such damage. The man’s nose was a broken bloody mess by the time he let him slump to the ground. Dutch instructed him to loot the man before guiding him out of the alleyway and leaving the unconscious man behind them.

Dutch withdrew a handkerchief and wiped some blood off Arthur’s face before mounting the Count. “You made the right choice, son! Just don’t hesitate next time. Hesitating or showing any sign of weakness can get you killed in this world. I’ll meet you back at camp.” 

There was a steadily growing throb in Arthur's knuckles as he watched him ride down the street. It didn’t feel like he’d made the right choice, but what did he know? Dutch had been living this life a lot longer than he had, was even successful at it. Arthur shook his head and whistled for Boadicea before riding towards the general store to restock their low supplies.

Arthur drew a deep breath to steady himself as he set the sights of Dutch’s rifle on a buck that was just shy of a hundred feet away. The animal was peacefully grazing, and Arthur couldn’t help but eye the sizeable rack on its head. There wasn’t a doubt in his mind that it would sell well, and if he aimed just right, he could manage to sell the pelt for a pretty penny. He exhaled and drew another breath, recalling Hosea’s teaching from nearly two years ago.

The thought forced him to pause as it derailed his concentration.

He was coming up on the second year he’d been in Dutch’s gang, and soon it would also mark the fourth month since Hosea had left. Arthur shook his head and steadied his rifle again, forcing the thought to the side as he felt his throat grow tight. He swallowed and breathed in another steady breath through his nose.

Arthur slipped his finger onto the trigger, and as he eased it back, Copper’s baying broke his concentration. The sound startled him, causing him to miss as the deer bolted into the woods. He swore and glared over his shoulder at his dog to find him baying up a tree. 

“Would you leave that damn squirrel alone?” He huffed as he stood. “You ain’t fit to climb trees, and I ain’t about to let Miss Grimshaw make another damn pot of squirrel stew.”

He looked over at Arthur with his big brown eyes, tail wagging vigorously as he bayed once again.

Arthur sighed and shouldered the rifle, figuring Copper’s racket had scared off any wildlife in the area. Yet, he couldn’t stay angry at him as the dog proudly pranced in place. Copper was hardly half a year old, and it would take some time before he could control the instinct to track and signal anything and everything that resembled prey.

With a short whistle, he signaled for Copper to follow him as he made his way back to the cabin.

It didn’t come as a surprise when he found Dutch and Miss Grimshaw bickering. He wasn’t sure how they’d managed to keep a relationship going as long as they had. They were both just as stubborn as the other, and he couldn’t name a single opinion of theirs that they didn’t feel strongly about. Neither of them was afraid to say what was on their mind, and Arthur knew it was only a matter of time before there was a fallout. In his opinion, it was unsurprising that it had happened in the wake of Hosea’s departure. 

“Do you really want him out there working in those factories and risk him losing a limb?” Grimshaw snapped. 

“Think of the money that lies behind those walls!”

She glared at him. “Is that all you think about these days? Money?”

“We have to be realistic. We can’t live on what we’re making right now,”

“I agree, but factory work? Are you out of your damn mind?”

“Listen, it’s too risky to draw that kind of attention to myself after the stunt we pulled in Kettering. We’re bound to get noticed if I go in there.”

Arthur heaved a sigh. He was tired of the two of them bickering over his welfare as well as what he should or shouldn’t do. The teen was sixteen, and with all that he’d experienced in his life, he was tired of people assuming they knew what was best for him, instead of including him in their discussion. 

He shook his head and leaned the rifle against the side of the cabin. “I ain’t a kid, you know.”

Dutch spun around, and he only showed his surprise for the briefest of moments before disguising it with a smile. “Arthur! You’re back already?”

He shrugged.

“Well, fine,” he started, “what do _you _prefer, Arthur? You got any ideas?”

“I saw some kids selling papers throughout town. It don't look too hard, and the pay is doable as long as you two keep up your own thieving.”

Dutch snorted as he turned to Susan. “Do you hear this boy, Miss Grimshaw?”

“I sure do,” she said, “and his plan is much better than yours.”

Dutch’s smile dropped at and Susan only shrugged. “Fine, get yourself a job selling papers, and we’ll see how that works out for you. You might be too old to sell much of anything.”

“I think he’ll do just fine,” she countered. “Won’t you, Mister Morgan?”

"Of course, Miss Grimshaw,"

Becoming a paperboy, as it turned out, wasn't difficult. All Arthur had to do was purchase fifty papers, then turn around and sell them to make a profit. It seemed easy enough, yet getting people to buy papers from him was an unexpected challenge. He tried everything he could think of, from flattery to begging, only to find that nothing worked. 

Arthur heaved a sigh as he leaned against the brick exterior of a building. His plan had failed miserably, and his mistake had cost him a whole twenty-five cents. It was a little more than pocket change, but it was salt in an irritated wound nonetheless. Dutch had been right, and he feared that fact would change how seriously Dutch would take him the next time he made a suggestion.

A tap on his shoulder interrupted his thoughts, and he looked over to find a boy he recognized from the line outside the distribution window of the Chicago tribune. Then again, it wasn't hard to forget him. He was a whole head shorter than Arthur with a head full of dark tight curls and relied on a simple crutch. 

"Hey! You're the new kid, aren't ya?" He asked with a wide smile.

Arthur furrowed his brow. "I guess."

"You ain't, sellin' much, huh?"

"What's it look like?" He huffed as he folded his arms across his chest.

He held his hands up in defense, although his smile only widened. "Easy! No need to get your feathers ruffled! What's your name?"

"Arthur,"

"You got a nickname yet, Arthur?"

"A what?" He asked as he wrinkled his nose. 

"A nickname! Almost every newsie's got a nickname! My name's Henry, but the others call me Gimp." He shrugged and tapped his crutch on the sidewalk. "For obvious reasons."

"I ain't got one," he replied. 

"Don't worry, you'll get one, but until then, why don’t we team up? We'd get your papes sold in no time since people usually feel sorry for me!"

Arthur quirked an eyebrow before his gaze flicked to the stack of newspapers at his feet. At this rate, it would be impossible for him to make a profit on his own, and he looked up to find Gimp eagerly waiting for his answer.

"So? What d'ya say?"

He eyed his crutch before his eyes met Gimp's. "I have a few ideas for suckering folks. You think you'd be open to them?"

"As long as they ain't insulting,"

"Then sure," Arthur said with a smile. "We'll split the profits even, fair and square. If you ask me, it’s probably best we play this out like we're brothers."

Gimp gave him an amused once-over look with a quirked eyebrow. "You're a regular huckster, ain't you?"

"You could say that,"

"I figured. You got the look of one, too.” He said before his face lit up. “Hey! I got it! Your nickname is Huck!"

Arthur laughed at that, finding the nickname oddly fitting in more ways than one. He did, however, try to keep his thoughts from settling on Hosea for too long. The nickname reminded him of Huck Finn, and it was Hosea who had read him the book not too long ago.

They sold more papers than Arthur thought they would. Chicago hadn’t come across to him as a city with sympathetic folk, yet he was proven wrong as he and Gimp took turns playing off the other. If Gimp reeled in some passersby, Arthur would fake a coughing fit to make their charity case more compelling. 

Arthur, on the other hand, was better at coming up with stories than he thought he’d be. Stories about an ill mother and an absent father, whether said father was working, a drunkard, or killed during the Great Chicago Fire, rolled off his tongue with ease. He’d learned how to spin stories by watching Hosea, and he was surprised to find that his were just as compelling.

They took a break after a while, and Arthur bought them both something to eat from the general store. Gimp was taken off guard by his kindness, and when he tried to pay him back, Arthur refused his offer. It was the least he could do for the help Gimp had been.

“What really happened to your leg? If you don’t mind me askin’.” Arthur asked as he rolled up his shirtsleeves. There was hardly a breeze, and the heat of the sun radiating off the buildings and sidewalk was nearly suffocating. 

“I used to help with the stables on the southside of the city, and when the fire spread to us, a lot of people just left. Didn’t even stop to free the horses. So I figured it was me who had to do it, but they were so frightened they bolted as soon as I opened the gate, and, well, you’re smart enough to figure out the rest.” He shook his head. “If it weren’t for the ranch hand who stuck around, I reckon I would’ve been burnt to a crisp.”

Arthur studied Gimp’s right leg. “I was still somewhere out west when the fire happened, but I heard about it. Seemed like every paper was talking about it.”

“I want to go west someday,” he replied. “Take a train somewhere to where it’s green and pretty, and where the buildings don’t hide the sky.”

He studied him, noting the dreamy look in his eye. “What’s keepin’ you here?” 

The question earned a snort from Gimp. “Money, for one! And what the hell am I gonna do once I get out there? I can’t work, well, not a high payin’ job, anyway.”

Arthur didn’t say anything as he turned over Gimp’s words in his head.

“Anyway,” he started, “you think we could sell a few more of those papes before sundown?” 

“With you workin’ your charm? I don’t doubt it!” 

He scoffed. “Please, _you’re_ the one with a pretty face that all the girls like.”

“You’re full of horseshit,” he muttered as he rose to his feet and offered Gimp a hand.

He smirked as he took his hand. “Hey, _you’re _the huckster here!” 

They only had about two dozen more papers left by the time the sun turned the sky into a golden haze, and Arthur was proud of himself. His plan had been successful, although he knew he couldn’t give himself all the credit. Gimp had been his saving grace, and Arthur couldn’t wait to show Dutch that he’d been wrong about not being able to sell any papers. 

His satisfaction, however, was short-lived. Arthur had been calling out the front-page headline when he froze. Across the street were two gentlemen watching him, and his blood turned to ice as he recognized the distinct green neckerchiefs around their necks. One said something to the other just then, and just by the smirk alone, Arthur knew it was Colm. 

The paper in his hand was snagged from him, and he jumped as he looked over at Gimp. There was a confused look on his face as he studied Arthur.

“What’s the matter with you, Huck?” He asked. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

There were a dozen things he wanted to tell Gimp. He wanted to warn him, tell him to get lost while he dealt with the two men who were now approaching them. Yet, with that came the risk of putting him in even more danger. He was at a loss as to what to do, and it left Arthur wishing he had Hosea's wisdom. 

“Well, would you look who it is,” Colm said. “It’s Dutch’s boy!”

The other man eyed him. His expression was like steel, yet there was a glint of annoyance in his skeptical dark eyes. “He don’t look like much, brother.” 

Colm elbowed him hard in the side and shot him a nasty look before smiling at Arthur again. “You still running with that bastard, boy?”

Arthur scowled at him. “What’s it to ya?” 

He shrugged. “Well, if you ask me, Dutch ain’t all there. Now don’t get me wrong, in the grand scheme of things, the man has _wonderful_ plans, but he don’t pay attention to the details. You see, it’s the _details _that make plans successful, and I guess I’m surprised that you ain’t seen that yet.”

Arthur’s eyes narrowed. “What’re you gettin’ at?”

Colm smiled wide. “That’s what I like about you, boy. You’ve got a good head on your shoulders, and with skills like yours, I’m afraid they’re going to waste considering who you’re with.”

“Long story short, he wants you in our gang,” the other man added impatiently. 

“I ain’t interested,”

Colm tilted his head, both surprised and amused by Arthur’s audacity. “Is that so?”

“C’mon, Colm, this brat’s just a waste of our feckin’ time,”

“Easy, Duncan,” he replied before digging into his pocket. Arthur tensed as his hand went to the handle of his sheathed hunting knife, and he was surprised when Colm pulled out a few dollars and handed it to him. “Keep the papers, but know that my offer still stands, and I don’t take kindly to people denying them.”

Arthur waited until they were gone to hand the cash to Gimp. The young teen stared at the money for a brief moment before his eyes shifted to Arthur.

“But it’s yours,”

“I don’t want it,”

He hesitantly tucked the bills into his pocket as he looked Arthur over. “You’re part of a gang?”

“Sorta,” he said. “It ain’t your usual gang. We try to help people.”

“And what about them?”

“O’Driscolls are nothing more than filthy rats,” he answered. “They kill and rob whoever they please.”

“Are you gonna be okay?” 

Arthur looked over at Gimp, finding genuine concern in his light brown eyes. He’d hardly known him for a day, and he wasn’t sure how to feel about the friendship they already shared. He offered him a smile that he hoped came across as confident despite the remnant of fear that still gripped him. “Sure! I’ve got my own gun and knife. I’ll give ‘em hell if they try something.”

That seemed to put the younger boy at ease as he breathed out a shaky sigh and ran a hand through his hair. “Good.”

When Arthur returned to the cabin, he didn’t tell Dutch about his incident with Colm and his brother. While he wouldn’t outright admit it, he feared Dutch wouldn’t let him back into the city again if he knew. Surely, he was old enough to handle whatever came his way. He’d had his ass handed to him on multiple occasions, but that was before Dutch and Hosea had taught him the skills he had now. After all, he had his own weapons to defend himself when before he had none.

Arthur did, however, tell Dutch about how he helped sell nearly two days’ worth of papers in a day and had enjoyed the stunned look on his face. Miss Grimshaw seemed to enjoy it just as much as she patted his shoulder with a smug grin on her face, and while he didn’t show it, Arthur felt just as pleased.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for your patience with this update! I've been sick for ten days, and I'm just now feeling more like myself. 😅
> 
> Also, half of this chapter was inspired by the Newsies! I got to see it off-Broadway and with it taking place in 1899, it was too fitting NOT to include elements of it into this chapter. The title of this chapter is even inspired by a line in the song "Carrying the Banner". I totally recommend seeing it if musicals are your thing.
> 
> Also, I took some creative liberties with when Arthur gets Copper. TECHNICALLY, the math points to Arthur getting him sometime around 1886, but oh well. ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯
> 
> Anywho~ 
> 
> Thank you again for the lovely comments!! Each and every one of them makes my heart feel so full!!! You all are amazing <3
> 
> Happy holidays!


	7. Life in the Gray

The heat of the sun and the thick humid air were insufferable. There was no escaping it, let alone any means available to relieve it. It was downright miserable. Not even sitting in the shade of a building and leaning against its brick facade brought Arthur any relief. He felt drops of sweat roll down the sides of his face. With a groan, he undid yet another button of his shirt before pulling his flat cap over his face. 

"This heat's gonna kill me before the day is done," he groaned. 

"I won't be far behind ya," Gimp replied from where he stood beside him.

Arthur muttered a string of swears under his breath. He then pulled off his hat and ran a hand through his damp hair to brush the strands out of his face. "Ain't there a fountain around here?"

"There is, but I can guarantee you we won't sell any more papes if you're smellin' like a wet dog,"

He rolled his eyes and frowned up at Gimp to find him grinning from ear to ear. "Very funny. I'm in stitches."

Gimp tipped his hat. "My pleasure!"

Arthur returned his flat cap to his face. "What's the news today, anyway?"

There was the sound of paper rustling as he waited for Gimp's response. 

"Well, I hate to break it to ya, but there ain't much. We'll be lucky if we get all of these sold." He paused for a brief moment. "Wait a second, hold on, there's a strike at one of the meatpacking factories."

He scoffed. "That ain't news."

"What about them bein' beaten to a pulp?"

Arthur pulled off his hat again to look up at him. "By who?"

He squinted at the words on the page and shrugged. "It don't say, but police suspect an organized group made it happen. They ain't sure who did the organizin', though."

"Which factory?"

"Davis' I think,"

Arthur stared up at him in disbelief. "_Davis?_"

"Did I stutter?"

He shook his head. "Listen, it ain't no mystery who organized those crooks."

Gimp furrowed his brow. "Why? Do you know Davis personally?"

"No, but I've robbed him," he replied with a smug grin. "Beat up his son, too."

He laughed. "Of course you have!"

"Anyway, Davis has got the O'Driscolls in his pockets. He uses them as muscle."

"Doesn't surprise me,"

"So, I say we read the headline as 'gang hired to scatter meatpacking strikers'. That'll pull in some suckers."

Gimp eyed the article. "I dunno, Huck, that might be too far of a stretch. What if it comes back to bite us?"

"Please, to them we're just nobodies. Ain't no one gonna care enough to track us down."

"Sure, but you ain't a nobody to those O'Driscolls, and if they really are workin' for Davis as you said, you could get into some serious trouble."

He shrugged. "So what if I do? What matters is we get those papers sold."

"Huck—” 

"You just let me do the talkin' so you don't get dragged into this."

"I ain't worried about that," Gimp muttered as he folded up the newspaper.

Arthur studied him. "Is it the O'Driscolls?"

"No, stupid, I'm worried about you!"

He blinked. The thought that Gimp cared enough to worry about his safety hadn't occurred to him. It rendered him speechless for a brief moment, and he tried to cover his surprise with a grin. "Hey, don't worry about me. I can handle myself."

Gimp squinted his eyes at him before accepting his answer with a nod to himself. 

Arthur returned his hat to his head as he rose to his feet. After giving Gimp a pat on his back, he picked up the stack of papers that were on the ground. "C'mon, we've got papes to sell."

By the time the day was done, Arthur was dead on his feet. The heat had been relentless all week with no hope of it cooling off anytime soon. Standing out in the sweltering heat had left him drained. On days like this, he would return to the cabin and lay in the cool shade of some trees. Copper would lay beside him as Arthur either napped or wrote in his journal. 

Arthur had always been a light sleeper. For most of his life, he'd had no choice. His father's foul moods were unpredictable, and sleeping with one eye open had been his saving grace more times than he could count. Yet, with Copper by his side, his sleep had been more restful. When someone approached him, Copper's stirring usually roused him from his sleep, and when nightmares came his way, the coonhound would nose him awake. 

However, the summer heat that day had lulled them both into an unusually deep sleep, and neither of them had heard Dutch's footsteps as he made his way over. 

He stood over Arthur with hands on his hips, and he couldn't help the small smile that twisted his lips at the sight. The teen was lightly snoring, and his dog sat curled up beside him with his head resting on his chest. Dutch almost regretted waking him by nudging his side with the toe of his boot.

Arthur awoke with a start, his hand flying to the handle of his knife out of habit. The movement spooked Copper, and the dog was on his feet in an instant as he bayed at Dutch. The teen rubbed his face before shushing him and looked up to find Dutch staring down at him.

Arthur frowned. "Yeah, Dutch?"

"Listen, son, I heard there's some big money that just came into town. Some gentlemen are staying at the saloon on the corner by the theater. How would you like to join me for a little huckstering?"

He looked over at Copper and rubbed the dog's ear. "I dunno, Dutch, is it safe?"

"Sure it is!" He scoffed. "Just some wordplay is all. Why? You ain’t going soft on me, are you?" 

“Of course not!” Arthur snapped. 

“Good,” he grinned, “then mount up and let’s get going,”

When they arrived at the saloon, Arthur had expected to play a part in Dutch’s plan. He’d been in the habit of swindling folks for a while, and he was convinced he had come damn close to mastering it. Yet when he started towards the door, he felt a firm hand on his shoulder from behind and turned to find Dutch casting him a questioning look.

“Hold your horses, son, just where do you think you’re going?” 

“Inside,” he huffed as he shrugged out of his grasp.

“No, tonight I need you watching the back door,”

“The _what?_ You’re putting me on _guard duty?_”

Dutch furrowed his brow. “You better change that tone of yours. Yes, I need a lookout in case something goes amiss.”

He narrowed his eyes. “You said this job wasn’t dangerous.”

“And it ain’t, but throwing caution to the wind is a fool’s move. Now, how about you start trusting me and get yourself to the back door?”

Arthur muttered under his breath, but the warning look he received from Dutch ceased his grumbling as he made his way through the alley and over to the back door.

He folded his arms across his chest and leaned against the brick wall. From where he stood, he could hear the bright and jovial music coming from the piano inside. It’s quick notes and chords muted the conversations inside the saloon, blending their words together so that they were nothing more than added noise to the racket. Arthur had no doubt that it was crowded inside, which would only make it easier for Dutch to con some unsuspecting rich folks.

He frowned as he watched a rat tentatively make its way through the alley. Arthur felt useless, and there was a part of him that still believed Dutch brought him along for nothing. He was tired, and there was no telling how long Dutch would take. For all he knew, the man was helping himself to a beer and a game of poker. 

Arthur peered around the corner where he could see the main street and stiffened when he saw two men walk into the alley. He pulled away and hugged himself to the wall. Judging by their slurred words and heated tones, they were drunk and angry.

“I swear it to you! That's the man who conned me in Kettering. I don’t forget a face, especially one that robs nearly a hundred dollars from me!”

“I think I remember now, ain’t that the same crook who escaped his cell and left Sheriff Carmichael indecently exposed? Left the poor man tied up in the very jail cell he escaped?”

“That’s him, although his friend don’t seem to be around,”

“Two to one," the man snickered, "now those are odds I like,”

Arthur had heard enough by then, and he quietly slipped into the saloon through the backdoor. He made his way through the crowd as he searched for Dutch, and he found him leaning against the bar talking to a woman. The two of them seemed to be enamored by the other, and while Arthur didn’t know much about love and romance, he could’ve sworn it was the woman who was reeling in Dutch for once. 

Disrupting whatever was happening between them would no doubt stir Dutch’s quick temper, but a glance at the front door reminded him of the two men who, without question, intended to harm him. Drawing a deep breath, Arthur made his way over to Dutch’s side and cleared his throat.

The older outlaw turned to face him, and Arthur caught the flicker of anger behind his eyes despite his easy-going smile. “Arthur! I thought I said I’d meet you outside.” 

“Excuse me for interrupting, but we’ve got a situation outside. Some folks from Kettering are waitin’ for you.”

The woman watched with amusement as Dutch’s smile faltered. “You didn’t tell me you were a wanted man, Mr. Van der Linde.”

He shrugged. “What can I say? Even those who despise me desire me.”

“Can’t say I blame them,” she replied as she took a drag on her cigarette, “now go on. You shouldn’t keep them waiting.”

It took all of Arthur’s strength to keep him from rolling his eyes as he followed Dutch to the back door. 

“You said they were from Kettering?” Dutch asked as he paused.

“Yeah, they also said you robbed them and tied up a sheriff,”

Dutch laughed at that one. “Oh, we did a whole lot more than tie him! Did they say what they had in mind?”

“No, just that they liked the odds,”

“See what I mean, son? Without you watching that back door, who knows what they would’ve done.”

Arthur didn’t have the chance to ask what the plan was before Dutch eased the door open and slipped outside, leaving him no choice but to silently follow him. While he half expected Dutch to leave the men alone, Arthur wasn’t surprised when he outright confronted the two strangers.

“Gentlemen!” He exclaimed as he walked over to them. “I heard you were looking for me.”

Arthur rested his hand on the grip of his revolver as the men in front of them whirled around. 

“See! What did I tell you?” One said to the other. “I told you he was the one!”

Dutch chuckled to himself. “My word, are they _still _looking for me?” 

“Sure are, there’s even a nice price for your head,”

“Is there now?” 

“There is, and if you come quietly,” the man said as he drew his pistol, “there won’t be any trouble, and your son can go home.”

Dutch flashed them a wide smile. “You see, the thing about trouble is that I don’t mind it.” 

The two men exchanged an uneasy glance before the other drew his pistol and spoke up. “Consider this as your final warning, mister.”

What happened next was almost too quick for Arthur to catch. Dutch had drawn his revolver, and without missing a beat, he’d shot and killed both men. The sound made Arthur jump, and he watched with wide eyes as both men crumpled to the ground. He found himself frozen to the spot, and it wasn’t until Dutch had guided him out of the alley and to his horse that he was able to shake himself from his shock. 

His body moved on its own accord as he mounted Boadicea and urged her to a gallop to keep up with Dutch. Behind him, he could hear the shouts of a man who had undoubtedly investigated the sudden commotion.

It was only after they’d ridden past the city limits when Dutch finally slowed down. Arthur rode silently beside him for a while as his mind replayed the moment at the saloon. Dutch hadn’t hesitated to kill the two men. Sure, the men from Kettering had drawn their pistols, but Arthur couldn’t help but think that the whole confrontation had been unnecessary. It would have been easy to go around the saloon and wait elsewhere for the two men to leave. While their code included killing folks who needed to be killed, Arthur wondered if such drastic measures had been necessary. 

Of course, Dutch could sense the inner turmoil raging inside the teen. His steady silence was a tell that he was deep in thought. He looked over at Arthur to find a crease between his brows as he stared at the path ahead, and when Dutch couldn’t handle his silence anymore, he sighed and spoke up.

“Let me guess, you’re questioning why I killed those men,”

The question startled Arthur, and he glanced at Dutch before lowering his gaze to his saddle horn. “I just don’t understand.”

“Well, let me ask you this. What do you think would’ve happened if we slipped away?”

He scratched the back of his neck as he thought it over. “I dunno, we’d avoid that area for a while? Stay low?”

“For how long?”

“A week?”

“And then what?”

Arthur shifted in his saddle. “Maybe hope they gave up?”

“Sure,” Dutch replied. “So they give up, and we get to continue our merry lives on the outskirts of Chicago, but what if they didn’t? What if they did some sniffing, hired someone to come find us.”

He didn’t say anything.

“They’d turn what we’ve got, this family of ours, upside down and they wouldn’t care. Society only cares about people like us when we’ve taken what they think is theirs and when we don’t play the games to their rules. I didn’t want to kill those men, Arthur, but there was nothing else I could’ve done to stop them. In order to protect you, Miss Grimshaw, and myself, I could not let them go.”

A sickening wave of guilt came over him. How could he have doubted that Dutch had wanted anything else? That he, despite his flaws, cared about what they had and would do anything to protect it?

“I’m sorry,” 

“Oh, Arthur, I forgive you. You’re still learning. The life we live, well, it ain’t black and white. Believe me, I wish it was, but sometimes we have to do things we don’t want to do.”

“Yes, Dutch,”

He smiled at that. “You did well back there, son, even if you were just a lookout this time. I’m proud of you.”

Arthur returned his smile as those words erased the guilt he had felt.

Over the next few weeks, Dutch had started to meet regularly with the woman at the saloon. Arthur discovered a few days after the incident with the two men from Kettering that her name was Annabelle. She was, according to Dutch, a woman with refined poise and a fiery spirit, but from what little Arthur knew, he wasn’t sure what to think of her. There was a mischievous glint in her strikingly blue eyes, and unlike Hosea, she seemed to encourage Dutch’s plans. Although, while his plans were becoming more ambitious, they weren’t ever aimed at harming anyone. While Hosea would have disagreed with them, Arthur found that he didn’t have a justifiable reason to complain. The bigger scores earned by his loftier goals also meant that Arthur could give Gimp a larger share of what they made from the newspapers they sold. All in all, there was nothing to lose from Annabelle joining them, which left Arthur wondering why her presence didn’t sit right with him.

The more time Annabelle spent with them, the less time Arthur spent at the cabin. He would never admit it, but a part of him was afraid Dutch would leave him too. If Hosea had left after getting hitched, what was there to keep Dutch from doing the same? Distancing himself seemed to be the only way to ease the inevitable pain. Yet, his new habit wasn’t lost on Susan. She had noticed it almost immediately, and it was while he was saddling up Boadicea one morning that she decided to broach the topic.

“Arthur? May I have a word with you for a moment?” 

He turned and studied her briefly before nodding.

She smiled and wrapped an arm around his shoulders as she walked towards the treeline. “How are you doing?”

Arthur shrugged. “Fine, I guess.”

She raised an eyebrow. “You guess?”

Another shrug.

“Is it Annabelle?”

He forced a scoff and hoped it sounded convincing. “No, why?”

“You haven’t been around much lately,”

“I’ve been busy,”

“Yes, I hear selling papers is a _real_ demanding job,” she teased.

He only rolled his eyes. 

“Anyway, all joking aside, I’m worried about you. You ain’t been your usual self since—"

“I’m _fine_, Miss Grimshaw. There ain’t nothin’ to worry about.”

She examined him with a concerned look. Arthur was becoming more standoffish by the day, and what innocence he’d had left when he joined their little trio was dwindling faster than she liked. He was colder and more calculating in the last few months than he’d been in the last two years, and Susan had a feeling she knew why. Yet there was only so much she could do. Arthur kept everyone at an arm’s distance as of late, and there would be no breaking through until he allowed it.

All Susan could do was simply nod, her expression tight as she straightened his shirt and fixed his collar. The simple gesture brought a small smile to his face.

“Don’t worry about me, Miss Grimshaw,”

“It’s hard not to with the trouble you get yourself into,”

“Hey, I haven’t been into any trouble for a while now!”

“And what do you call last week’s mishap?” Susan asked as she folded her arms across her chest.

“Which one?” 

She swatted his arm. “Mr. Morgan!”

“I’m joking!” He laughed. “That fight last week was all the trouble I got into. I swear!” 

“You better be joking! If I find out you aren’t, I’ll string you up myself!”

He grinned at the threat, finding it oddly endearing. “Are you sayin’ you don’t trust me?”

“No, but I ain’t a fool,” she said with a wink. “I suppose I’ve kept you long enough, but don’t stay out for too long. I don’t much enjoy being the odd woman out with those two lovebirds. You're the only thing that's keeping me sane nowadays.”

“Then meet me at the saloon later today. You could use a drink or two.”

“And just what is that supposed to mean?”

He offered a sheepish smile as he began to back away to Boadicea. “You know I’m right.”

She only shook her head as he mounted up and rode down the path.

Arthur found Gimp at his usual corner with a stack of papers already by his feet. He frowned, however, when he noticed that the stack looked smaller than usual. They had been selling close to a hundred papers a day lately, and they partly had his exaggerated headline regarding Davis and Dutch’s small shootout to thank for that. The headline regarding Dutch was selling well, and when Arthur picked up one of the papers, he was half surprised that it was still there.

“Alleyway killer still at large, huh?” He mused aloud.

“Sure is,”

"Have you already sold half of the papers?"

"Not quite half, but they're still going quick today thanks to that killer,"

Arthur snorted before folding the paper and tossing it onto the pile with the rest of them. “How’s that black eye of yours?

“I can’t complain,” he shrugged. “It helps sell papes.”

He looked him over as his gut twisted with guilt. He’d gotten into a fight with Frank and his two friends last week when they tried confronting him about the false headline he’d been selling. Of course, Arthur had refused to back down, and it was his stubbornness that had caused the fight to break out. While he was convinced he could’ve handled it on his own (despite ending up on the ground and getting his ribs kicked), Gimp had tried to intervene. Although, Arthur had to admit the kid had quite an arm. He had swung his crutch at one of Frank’s friends, the end of it making contact with the boy’s head, and Arthur had the distraction to thank for allowing him to regain the upper hand. 

Gimp, however, hadn’t left the fight unscathed. Frank had been quick to pull him close by the collar and had landed a solid punch to his temple. 

Arthur reflected on the moment, vividly recalling the feeling of something snapping inside him when he witnessed the blow. It was a feeling he couldn’t explain. He had nearly lost it, and the three boys had been lucky to escape with their lives and just a few broken bones.

“How’re your ribs?” Gimp asked.

“Sore, but unfortunately they don’t change how many papers we sell,”

He laughed. “Unfortunately, but that was some fight!”

“Sure,”

“You really taught ‘em a lesson! Had ‘em running with their tail between their legs!”

“Only _after _you helped me out like you did,” Arthur added. “You should’ve stayed out of it.”

“And leave you to deal with those jerks alone? Hell no!”

“Well, thank you,” he said with a smile.

“Don’t mention it,”

Arthur wasn’t surprised when they sold their entire stack of newspapers a little after noon. Between the headlines that were interesting for once, the cooler temperature, and Gimp’s black eye, it was impossible for them not to. To celebrate, he bought Gimp some candies of his choice, and the two of them enjoyed the sweet treat on the steps of the general store. They were quiet for a while before Arthur finally rose to his feet, said goodbye, and started his walk to where he’d hitched Boadicea.

Yet he hadn’t made it very far when someone grabbed his sleeve and pulled him into an alley. Arthur’s hand instantly went for his knife but froze when he recognized the man in front of him. 

“The hell do you want, Colm?” He snapped.

“I’d be careful with that tone of yours, _boy_, you’re lucky I didn’t kill you the second I had my hands on you,”

“You wouldn’t have had the chance,”

“Now you know that ain’t true. You’re stubborn and full of fight, but you _hesitate_.” He smirked.

“Fuck you!”

Colm’s hand was around his throat in an instant, and Arthur’s eyes flew wide as he realized the truth behind the man’s words. “Mr. Davis wanted you dead for what you did to his boy, but killing a young man like you? Well, that would be a fucking waste.”

Arthur struggled against the tightening grip that was more threatening than deadly. “What do you want from me?”

“Your loyalty, for one. This is your last chance to accept my offer.”

“You just want what Dutch has,” 

Colm glared at him, and his hold tightened enough to close Arthur’s airway as he drew his knife and held it against his throat. Arthur grimaced at the cold bite of the metal as the blade rested against his skin, wondering if he'd said too much. It usually was his mouth that got him into trouble, and he mentally cursed himself for saying anything at all. 

“I could slit your throat now and let you bleed out in this alley,"

Arthur’s mind raced as he tried to think of a way out, yet he knew deep down that Colm wouldn’t kill him. Not now, anyway. The gang leader had a fascination with him, for reasons he didn’t fully understand, and he knew Colm wasn’t stupid. Killing him now would rob him of the very thing he wanted.

As if on cue, Colm’s smirk returned to his face as he let him go. Arthur involuntarily gasped for air as he stumbled backward away from him. The man sheathed his knife and shook his head.

“I’d hate for this to end with you dead, so I suggest you take my offer seriously and think this through. I'm being _kind_. I don't usually offer a second chance.”

Arthur said nothing as he left the alley and walked at a brisk pace down the sidewalk.

Even after his ride to the saloon, he couldn’t shake his encounter with Colm from his mind. He found a spot against the bar inside where he ordered a beer, and he’d nearly finished it by the time Susan arrived. 

“Getting started without me?” She asked as she took her place beside him.

“It ain’t like it’ll take you long to catch up,” he teased.

“You’re lucky I don’t smack you for that!”

He smiled, already feeling more at ease by her presence. “So tell me, what mighty plans have Dutch and his ‘songbird’ dreamed up today?”

“Oh, the usual. They ain’t planning on robbing any banks yet, so there’s that at least.”

Arthur shook his head. “I won’t be surprised when they do. You know, is it just me, or did things feel a bit more grounded with Hosea?”

She shrugged as she ordered a shot of whiskey. “I suppose they were in a sense. Hosea may have had his feet on the ground, but that didn’t keep his head out of the clouds.” 

Arthur nodded and downed the rest of his beer. 

“Have you heard from him at all?” Susan asked. 

“I haven’t bothered to check the post office,”

She gave him a sympathetic look. “Do you miss him?”

Arthur frowned. He missed him terribly, but as much as Arthur missed him, he was just as angry. It scared him just how bitter he felt toward the one man who had been the closest thing he had to a father, which only led to him ignoring the feeling altogether.

“Doesn’t everyone?” He finally asked.

“Arthur, it’s okay to be angry at him,”

The crease between his brows deepened as he stared down at his empty beer bottle. She'd hit the nail on the head as she always did. Susan had a knack for it, but Arthur still refused to acknowledge his anger. 

“I don’t want to talk about it, Miss Grimshaw,"

She nodded before finishing her shot in one swig. “I understand, but know that I’m here for you, especially if you decide to change your mind.”

“Thank you,”

She nodded and ordered another shot. As she waited, her eyes settled on Arthur's neck, where there was a fresh cut. It was hardly deeper than a scratch, but it still had her eyes narrowing as she took hold of his chin and tilted his head.

"What the hell are you doing, Susan?"

"Where'd you get this cut?"

He swallowed as he felt her brush a thumb over where he recalled Colm's knife resting. "I just scratched myself."

"It looks too clean to be a scratch, Arthur,"

"I swear that's all it is!"

She examined it for another moment before letting go of his chin. His answer didn't satisfy her, but she knew she wouldn't get anything trying to pry information from him.

Arthur was beyond grateful that she'd let it go. He had no doubt that she'd throttle him for not telling her about Colm, and while he considered letting her know, now wasn't the time. 

There were three beers in Arthur by the time they decided to ride back. His tolerance usually allowed for barely two, and for most drinking occasions, he stuck to that. Yet tonight he'd pushed it, and Susan had to help him onto his horse. She was surprised he'd managed to stay on it the whole ride. Between his singing and laughing, she had been prepared to pick him off the ground at some point or another. Yet, despite being drunk, he'd stayed upright in his saddle and had only stumbled briefly to the side when dismounting.

She rolled her eyes as he started another round of the song "Ring Dang Doo" and helped guide him into the cabin. However, she didn't trust him to sleep in his loft safely with his drunken stupor. The last thing she wanted to deal with was Arthur falling from it in the middle of the night. After five minutes of Arthur's protesting, she managed to convince him to take her room for the night. Copper, of course, was more than happy that Arthur was on the main level, and with a small smile, Susan let him into the room. She knew she'd regret it in the morning, but seeing Arthur's wide smile was worth it. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy New Year! I hope everyone was able to enjoy the holidays. :)
> 
> I know I keep saying this, but I really am grateful for all of your support!! <3 Thank you thank you thank you!


	8. Upping the Ante

Hosea sat on his porch and stared out at the looming hills of rock that encircled the deep blue water of O’Creagh’s Run. While the stony mountains paled in comparison to the Grizzlies, he was grateful for the scenic view they provided nonetheless. Hosea hadn’t been this far east since his youth, and it had been a while since he'd seen any landforms that were taller than a building. There was a part of him that had missed the lush forests and the landscape that was anything but flat. 

Yet his mind, as it often did despite his new life, wandered to Arthur, Dutch, and Susan. A small, wistful smile pulled at the corner of his mouth as he recalled the good times they’d had. Although, his smile left as quickly as it came when his thoughts drifted to the letters he’d sent to Arthur. Hosea hadn’t heard anything from the teen, and it worried him. Of course, there was the fear that Arthur was ignoring him, or that he never wanted to speak to him again, but most of all he dreaded the thought that Dutch was possibly intercepting them in some way.

The front door beside him opened, and he watched Bessie as she took a seat beside him. He thanked her for the coffee she handed him and stared down at the dark steaming liquid.

“It’s a beautiful day,” she noted before taking a sip from her own cup.

“That it is,”

“And yet, not even the shining sun and lovely view has seemed to lift your mood,”

Hosea only smiled at that. It was an accurate observation, one that was made more out of concern than anything else. 

Bessie studied him for a moment. “Is it the gang life that you miss?”

He chuckled. “No, I might be a scoundrel, but I don’t miss the gang life.”

“Please, you’ve proved time and again to be more than that! Just look at the honest job that you’ve picked up without even trying.”

“It doesn’t take much to be a ranch hand,”

“Perhaps not, but it’s still something,” she replied. “If it isn’t that, is it Dutch?”

Hosea hesitated and sipped his coffee as he thought it over. “I’ve had feelings for him in the past, and perhaps I still do, but know that as long as you’ll have me, I’ll love you all the more.”

She smiled as she gently took hold of his chin and tilted his face towards her. “Then it’s Arthur, isn’t it?”

Hosea dared to meet her eyes and took hold of her hand to press his lips to the back of it. “I suppose so. He hasn’t responded to any of my letters, and I fear Dutch may have something to do with it.”

“Dutch may be driven by his desires, but he isn’t cruel,” she said. "You know, Arthur could’ve come with us. I wouldn’t have minded.”

“Trust me, I tried, but hell hath no fury like Dutch van der Linde, and the last thing I wanted was for Arthur to be caught in the middle of it.”

She said nothing as she rubbed his back in soothing circles. “It will all work out, Hosea.”

“I hope you’re right,” he sighed.

Arthur drew a deep breath as he watched the sixth train leave the station that day. He glanced over his shoulder at the post office window to his right and watched the clerk who had been reading all morning between customers. His eyes then lowered to his boots as he tried to summon the courage to ask the one question he’d been both dying and dreading to ask the mustached clerk. 

If there was a letter for him, it would mean that Hosea still cared about him. Yet, the thought that there might be nothing waiting for him was terrifying. It would confirm every doubt he had about Hosea’s reason for his departure and for leaving him behind, that he was nothing more than a burden and a nuisance.

Adjusting his gambler hat, he finally rose to his feet only to feel a fresh wave of dread engulf him. It turned his stomach and tied it into knots. Arthur had been fighting with the feeling for several hours, and he was ready to be done with it. He couldn’t stand not knowing anymore.

He made his way over to the post office window and asked the clerk if there was any mail for an Arthur Morgan. The clerk took his time rummaging through a few file boxes, and each second felt like an eternity for Arthur. For a moment, he regretted asking the gentleman as he felt his fear take hold of him once again. He’d gotten his hopes up for nothing, and he’d started to leave the window when the clerk called him back.

Arthur looked over his shoulder to find that there was not one, but four letters in the man’s hand. He blinked, frozen in place until the gentleman impatiently asked him to retrieve his mail. He smiled and, for once, was happy to do as he was told. 

He hastily ran over to Boadicea’s side before tucking the letters inside his saddlebag. Arthur then mounted her and rode to a secluded brook he’d found in the woods several miles from camp. It was a place where he knew he could simply be, a place where he was safe and could be left alone. After dismounting, he removed the letters and sat on the trunk of a fallen tree. Arthur’s hands shook as he opened the first letter, and he couldn’t help but smile wide as he read it. His fears melted away as he read Hosea’s words, realizing how foolish he’d been. He blinked away the tears that threatened to spill from the blissful relief he felt, and he spent the next hour rereading each letter.

Yet, his relief didn’t last long as he noticed the dates on each letter. Hosea had sent a letter for almost every month he’d been gone, and Arthur was only just now reading them. Shame quickly replaced his relief over the bitterness he’d held for him. 

Arthur shook his head and tore a page out from his journal. It took him another hour and several crumpled pages to finally write a response that he thought was good enough. He wrote about Copper and how he’d been using what Hosea had taught him to sell newspapers. Yet Arthur paused as he recalled his encounters with Colm, his pencil hovering over the page. It was no secret how Hosea felt about Colm, and telling him would only cause him to worry. Arthur couldn’t bear the thought of being the one to mar any happiness he’d found wherever he was with Bessie. After a moment, he finally shook his head and instead settled for mentioning that a woman named Annabelle had joined them. 

He rode back into town to mail his letter before he could change his mind about sending it. When he returned, he noticed that Susan and Annabelle were playing cards at a round folding table outside. Dutch, on the other hand, was nowhere to be found, and Arthur wasn’t surprised. He had adjusted to the man’s impulsivity, and it wasn't unusual for him to disappear without warning.

He had started to make his way to the cabin’s door after letting Copper out of his pen when he heard Annabelle call his name.

“Arthur, why don’t you join us for a while?” She asked.

He hesitated as he thought it over. “I dunno.”

“Well,” Susan said, “I for one do. Come on over and play a few rounds of poker with us.”

Arthur heaved a sigh but gave in to the simple request. He took a seat between the two of them and leaned back in his chair as he eyed the community cards. After Susan won the round with a full house, Annabelle dealt Arthur in. He held his cards in front of him as Copper settled in the grass beside him.

Annabelle eyed the boy as she waited her turn. She hadn’t seen much of him since she’d come along, and Dutch wasn’t any help when she had tried to understand why. She had attempted asking him about it, but the man was completely oblivious to things that didn’t directly involve him. Instead, he had insisted that Arthur was fine and that he could look after himself. While that may have been true, there was no mistaking the growing apathetic look in Arthur’s blue eyes. 

Taking a closer look now, it was clear as day that the teen was lonely, and it was no doubt fueling his apathy. 

Her talk with Susan earlier that day had confirmed her suspicions, and the two of them had agreed to work as a team to try to pull Arthur out of the shell he was sinking back into. She had told Annabelle about the progress they had once made with Arthur, and how he used to show his kind heart and cheeky sense of humor more often. She’d also informed her how his regression started when Hosea left, and how, at times, she had to pester Dutch to give the boy the attention he needed.

Playing card games with Arthur had been Annabelle’s idea. It was her way of trying to warm up to the boy who usually tried to avoid her. 

“How was your morning, Arthur?” Annabelle asked.

“Fine,” he flatly replied as he raised the number of chips in the pot.

“Just fine?” 

“Yeah,”

“You were gone for a while,” Susan noted.

“I had to go into the city for a few things,”

Susan nodded to herself as she folded. “I hope you found what you needed.”

Arthur didn’t say anything at that as he watched Annabelle turn over the next community card. Instead, he simply raised the pot again.

While Annabelle had a royal flush, she folded and let Arthur win the pot. For the first time since joining them, Arthur’s flat expression shifted into a smirk as he eagerly collected the chips. She hid her smile by scratching her nose. His excitement over the small victory was cute, but he would no doubt wear his mask again if he knew she thought that. 

However, it wasn’t long until she had a winning streak going. Annabelle had practically been raised playing poker, and she was exceptionally good at it. She was a natural at both the strategy and mechanics of the card game, and Arthur could hardly believe it.

Arthur groaned as he lost again after having to go all-in with what little he had left. “I don’t know how, but you’re cheating!”

“Please, cheating is for cowards,” she grinned. “I simply have both skill and Lady Luck on my side.”

“Bullshit,”

“Arthur!” Susan chided. “Language!”

He muttered under his breath. “One of these days I’m gonna figure it out.”

“Then you’ll be sitting there scratching your head right into the grave,” she said. “There’s nothing to figure out.”

His eyes narrowed as he watched Susan shuffle the cards. “We’ll see about that.”

Yet, after an hour of watching Annabelle win the majority of the rounds, Arthur realized that she was telling the truth. He swore under his breath as he watched her win once again.

“You ever try playing at that one saloon in the city? The big one?”

She shrugged. “I’ve considered it, but never have.”

“Why not?”

“It’s one thing to encounter chauvinist men, but to compete, let alone interact with them? I’d rather spend a week with aristocrats!” 

A smirk pulled at the corner of his mouth. “Do you know how much money you could drain from those folks?”

She shrugged. “I can imagine.”

“They wouldn’t even expect it,” he continued, now leaning forward as his eyes glinted with excitement. “A woman? Daring to play poker with them? They’d think you a harmless fool.”

She leaned back in her chair, resting her arm atop the back of it as she mirrored his crooked grin. “And just what are you suggesting, Mr. Morgan?” 

“I say we pay a visit to that saloon and have a little fun,” 

“That sounds fine and all,” Susan started, “but what will _your _role be, Arthur? If both of you are playing, they’ll know something’s up.” 

Annabelle feigned a wounded look. “Susan! Don’t you remember? This is my younger brother, and Daddy refuses to let me go _anywhere _alone.”

She snorted at that. “Alright. Arthur, I only ask that you bring your gun with you just in case you run into trouble.”

“Of course,” he scoffed. “I’d be a fool if I didn’t.”

It was just before sunset when the two of them saddled up and rode into the city. Along the way, as the sky became a golden hue, they discussed the finer details of their plan and backstory. For the night, they were siblings who had lost their mother to an unnamed murderer on the street, which had only made their father absurdly overprotective.

Annabelle was clever and pragmatic, and the more time Arthur spent with her, the more he realized she was more than she appeared to be. As Arthur listened to her story and added his own two cents as needed, he couldn’t help but imagine the sort of tales Annabelle and Hosea would've come up with together. The thought, however, reminded him of how much he missed Hosea. To ease the pain, Arthur decided he would have to write to him about whatever happened tonight.

They hitched their horses just outside the saloon, and Arthur adjusted his gambler hat before straightening his vest. Susan had helped him put his outfit together, pairing the vest with one of Dutch’s button-down shirts to help him appear older than he was. Between the gunbelt, his shirt and vest, and the bandana that was around his neck, he looked at least three years older. Annabelle, despite being twenty-two, could already pass as a young woman who was hardly twenty. The two of them had agreed on the lie that they were only two years apart, and she had Arthur take her arm in his and walk her into the saloon.

She tucked a dark curl behind her ear as they walked by the poker table and looked over at Arthur. “I can’t thank you enough, brother! Why don’t you treat yourself to a poker game or two?” 

He smiled and tipped his hat. “Don’t mind if I do.”

“In the meantime, I’m going to get us a drink,” she said before leaving his side.

Arthur was warmly welcomed by the other men at the table, and he thanked them as he sat in the only empty chair. They dealt him in, and he easily chatted with them as he purposefully played a losing game. He’d lost his fourth round by the time Annabelle returned, and she handed him a beer as she gave him a knowing look.

“No luck _again_, brother?” 

“What do you think?” He sighed as he folded. “Hell, even _you _could play better than me at this rate!”

“Oh, I doubt that,”

“I bet you twenty bucks you could,”

That seemed to catch the interest of a gray-haired gentleman at the table. “Twenty?”

Arthur shrugged. “Sure!"

“Now that’s a bet I’d like to watch,” he replied with a grin. “Why don’t you have the lady try her hand at the game? She can’t lose any more money than you already have!”

Annabelle laughed. “Oh, no, I really shouldn’t!"

“And why not?” The gentleman asked. “It ain’t natural, but surely a lady can be allowed to play a few rounds of poker.”

“He’s right,” Arthur said as he stood and gestured to the chair. “Be my guest, but know I’ll be the one leaving this saloon with twenty bucks in my pocket.”

“We’ll see about that,” she replied with a smile.

He rolled his eyes and patted her shoulder. “Good luck.”

Arthur leaned against the bar where he could easily see the game of poker. While he had placed himself there as a lookout to make sure nothing happened, it was no hardship for him as he was entirely amused by the game that unfolded. Annabelle had eased into her winning streak, mindful of when to purposefully forfeit by folding and when to raise. She was a natural, and seeing the wealthy gentleman at the table become more frustrated over time was a treat. He would have to thank her for the show later, but for now, he simply nursed his beer as he watched on, careful to keep his amusement hidden.

He’d finished his beer and had smoked a cigarette before he leisurely made his way over. By now, two out of the four gentlemen had left.

“So? How’d you do? Will I be getting my twenty dollars?” Arthur asked.

“I’m afraid not,” Annabelle replied. 

The gentleman in front of her lifted his head from his hands and smoothed his thick graying hair. “Your sister is a damn savant! Please, escort her home before she bankrupts us.”

“You exaggerate, Mr. Davis,”

Arthur felt his face pale. “Davis?”

“The one and only,” he muttered, “now please, leave us to lick our wounds in peace.”

“Come on, Arthur,” she said as she rose to her feet after collecting the money she won. “We should be getting back to Daddy anyway before he worries himself sick.”

Davis narrowed his eyes at the mention of Arthur’s name, and Arthur forced a chuckle as he turned away and hastily led Annabelle out of the saloon. She sensed his unease instantly, and she gave him a curious look as they mounted their horses.

“Are you alright?” 

“I will be once we get out of here,” he replied as he urged his horse to a trot down the street.

She had no choice but to follow him, her brow furrowed in concern. “Did that name mean something to you?” 

“We’ve robbed him before,” he replied. “And I’ve beaten his son up twice.”

“Twice?”

He frowned at her tone. “Listen, I ain’t the one who started either fight! Little brat was askin’ for it.”

“Arthur,” she said gently, “you know fighting isn’t always the answer, right?” 

“Of course!” He scoffed. “I ain’t a kid!”

“That wasn’t what I was implying, but I _am _concerned that you might get yourself into some kind of trouble you may not be able to fight your way out of.”

He tensed at that but kept his eyes on the path ahead as he thought over his words. “I appreciate your concern, but I don’t need any motherin’, ain’t needed it for a while.”

Arthur’s words left Annabelle’s heart aching. The boy was yearning for the very thing he seemed convinced that he didn’t need. She could see it in the way his eyes finally lowered to the horn of his saddle where one hand was gripping it tightly. Yet, Arthur had decided at some point or another that he was fine, or worse, that he _wasn’t _fine and that there was no hope in changing that.

The thought of the latter alone was heart-wrenching to Annabelle. In the brief time she’d spent getting to know him, she knew without a doubt that there was great potential in Arthur. He was more than a silver-tongued thief, yet from what she had gathered, that was all Arthur saw when looking at himself.

As they left the city behind them, Annabelle decided to make it her goal to prove otherwise to Arthur. Not outright, of course. The teen would never accept that truth if she did. She would have to be subtle, ease Arthur into seeing who he really was. It wouldn’t be easy, but knowing that it would be a challenge only motivated Annabelle.

A warm breeze stirred the lush trees as Dutch leaned against the side of the cabin and watched Arthur write in his journal. Both Susan and Annabelle had mentioned Arthur’s changed mood to him, and while he had been stubborn to admit it, he could no longer deny that the boy looked downcast. In fact, it had only now occurred to him that he’d hardly seen the teen all week. Arthur had started spending less time at camp, and while Dutch had assumed he was either out in town or hunting while away, he never knew for sure. The realization had dawned on him all at once that morning, and while he didn’t show it, he felt guilt pull at his heart. He hadn’t meant to neglect the boy. Dutch had thought their occasional thieving and swindling they did together had been enough. When Susan had mentioned that it wasn’t, he’d brushed her comment off as her nagging at him once again. Yet Annabelle had made a similar comment earlier that week, and it wasn’t until early that morning that he’d stopped to consider the truth in their words.

He scratched the back of his neck as he felt a familiar fear creep to the forefront of his mind. It was almost three years ago that Hosea had told him he wasn’t ready, that Dutch was too young to take in a teen that was barely younger than he was. Since Hosea left, the memory of his words had made a habit of resurfacing, causing Dutch to doubt his decision. The realization that he had no idea what he was doing scared him to death. He’d never been a caregiver of any kind before, and he feared that Hosea, as he usually was, had been right. 

However, most of all, he feared he wasn’t important to Arthur, and thus wasn’t the mentor he thought he was.

Drawing a deep breath, he walked over to where Arthur was sitting in the grass. Copper rose to his feet as he came over and greeted him, his tail wagging as he circled Dutch once before sitting beside him. Arthur closed his journal and looked up at him.

His brow furrowed in confusion. “You need somthin’, Dutch?”

“No, son, I was wondering if you’d like to go fishing with me on this beautiful morning,”

“You want to take me fishing?” He asked in disbelief. “You just want somethin’ to laugh at.”

Dutch snorted. “That ain’t true! Becoming a good fisherman takes time. You’d get the hang of it in no time with some practice!”

He narrowed his eyes as he looked him over. “Honest?”

“I give you my word,”

“Can Copper come?” 

“Only if he won’t scare the fish away,”

Arthur, of course, insisted that he wouldn’t, and the two of them mounted their horses and rode over to the lake that was nearby. Dutch took the time to refresh his memory of the proper way to fish and reminded him of the tips Hosea had given him. Mentioning Hosea in conversation was bittersweet for both of them, and while neither of them batted an eye at it, there was no mistaking the void that was felt at the reminder of Hosea’s absence.

For a while, they fished in silence as they listened to the birdcalls around them. It was peaceful, and when Dutch glanced at Arthur, he was happy to find that he wasn’t wearing a scowl.

“So, how’ve you been getting on in the city?” He finally asked.

“Fine, I guess,”

“You keeping yourself out of trouble?”

“Yeah, why?” Arthur asked as he kept his eyes on the lake, careful to keep his expression from revealing anything of the contrary.

He shrugged. “I just thought I’d ask. I’ve noticed more O’Driscolls crawling the streets of Chicago, and I wanted to make sure none of them have given you any trouble.”

“Nossir, I don’t think they notice me,”

“Good,” he replied, “because there would be hell to pay if they ever laid a hand on you.”

Arthur said nothing as he recast his line.

“I’m thinking it’s time we head north to Milwaukee. I don’t like living so close to those vermin, nor competing with them. It’s about a half day’s ride, and I figure it’s best to move now while the weather is still warm.”

His brow suddenly furrowed as he looked up at Dutch. While he had started to make more enemies than he’d like in the city, he had finally felt settled for the first time in a long while. He liked the cabin and his little glade by the brook in the woods, and to leave it all so suddenly was the last thing he wanted to do. “We’re moving?” 

He nodded. “I’m afraid we have no choice.”

“When?”

“The sooner the better, but no later than two days from now,”

Arthur’s gaze returned to the lake as he tried to process his inner turmoil. While he was relieved that he would be out of Mr. Davis and Colm’s grasp, there was a part of him feared what would happen to Gimp. While his friend had survived the streets just fine before meeting him, Arthur had hoped to do more for him to return his kindness. The boy had gone out of his way to help him, and Arthur had yet to repay Gimp the way he wanted to.

A bite on his line jolted him from his thoughts, and Dutch’s voice only barely registered as he coached him how to reel in the fish. The fish he caught was an impressive size, but Dutch’s heartfelt praise failed to ease his mind. 

When they returned, Arthur only dismounted to put Copper back in his large pen before riding into the city to share the news with Gimp. It didn’t take long for Arthur to find him. When he didn’t see him on his usual street corner, Arthur rode over to the park they occasionally visited. There, he found him sitting on a bench watching the people around him. 

Arthur dismounted and hitched his horse but stayed where he was as he watched his friend. He tried thinking over his words as he pulled at his shirt in an attempt to cool off from his ride, yet nothing came to him, and he reluctantly made his way over to Gimp and sat down beside him.

His friend flinched away at first, but a wide smile quickly replaced his frown when he realized it was Arthur. “Huck! What’ya doin’ all the way out here?”

Arthur sighed as he withdrew a cigarette from his pocket and offered it to Gimp, who kindly turned down his offer. He then shrugged before striking a match using the sole of his boot and lighting the end of it for himself. “I’m afraid I’ve got some bad news, Gimp.”

He tensed. “Did that O’Driscoll find you again?”

“He did, but that ain’t the bad news,” he said. “The gang I run with has decided to go north to Milwaukee.”

Gimp pondered the news silently for a moment as his gaze flicked over to the people lazing about by the lake’s shore, and it was a while before he spoke again. “I had a feeling you wouldn’t be sticking around for long, but I had hoped that maybe I’d be wrong.”

“Me too,” he said before taking a long drag.

“It’ll be good for you to get outta here, though,”

“What about you?”

“Don’t worry about me,” he grinned, “I know a few kids who’ll help me out if I need it. Hell, I’ve made it _this _far without you, haven’t I? No offense, of course.”

Arthur laughed at that. “None taken, but I do want you to take this.”

Gimp furrowed his brow as he watched him dig through his satchel. His jaw then fell open as Arthur pulled out a stack of bills and offered it to him.

The boy’s wide brown eyes flicked up to Arthur’s. “Arthur, I can’t…”

“Please, it’s the least I can do for the help you’ve been and the trouble I’ve caused,”

He frowned. “You ain’t been any trouble! You’re my friend!”

Arthur smiled. “Thanks, but I insist. We have plenty of it to spare.”

Gimp studied him for another moment before reluctantly taking the money from his hand. “I dunno what to say.”

“You don’t have to say nothin’,” he replied. “I'll try to visit from time to time.”

“S’long as it doesn’t put you in danger, I’d like that,”

Arthur’s grin only grew as he ruffled the boy’s curly locks. “Then I’ll see you around?” 

He laughed as he pushed his hand away. “Of course! You can’t get rid of me that easily.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you everyone for your patience with this delayed update!! <3 
> 
> Energy to write has been limited as of late, and I want to make sure I'm not just throwing things together when I write. Unfortunately, that sometimes leads to a delay, but you all are lovely for being patient with that <3
> 
> Thank you for your support!
> 
> PS: I know it may seem like it's taking forever for John and a few others to come into the picture, but know that they are on the way! It may take more chapters though. 😅
> 
> PPS: Also, Annabelle's features were inspired by @journen on Instagram! Their design for her is absolutely lovely and I highly recommend checking it out!


	9. Catch-22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Howdy friends! <3
> 
> Friendly reminder that this fic has canon-typical violence. This chapter doesn't go into gory detail, but there is quite a bit of violence. Please read at your own discretion and enjoy <3

It took less than two weeks for Arthur to discover that all cities looked the same and even less time for him to realize he found them all equally suffocating. The streets of Milwaukee weren’t any different from Chicago’s. Like Chicago, it wasn’t difficult to spot the haves from the have-nots. The obvious disparity between social classes was nothing new to Arthur. Even so, Dutch had still felt the need to rehash his fierce distaste for it. 

The older outlaw’s tirade was nothing new to Arthur. He had heard it all before.

Dutch had, per usual, spoken to them at length about the good they would be doing in a city like Milwaukee. Yet despite insisting that they would be giving the locals hope with some long overdue fair treatment, Arthur still felt lost. There was no better word for it. As convincing as Dutch’s words had been, they failed to absolve his apathy, and it confused him. He knew it was good to help others, and somewhere deep inside, he knew he wanted to, but there was no drive. It was as if the wind had been sucked out of his sails, although he couldn’t pinpoint why. Arthur found himself wondering if something inside him had been broken, and the more he thought about it, the more the concept scared him.

There were some nights when that train of thought was enough to paralyze him and left him wide awake as he stared at the ceiling. He was changing in ways he didn’t understand, and the realization made his lungs seize in his chest.

However, he said nothing of these thoughts and instead tried to make the best out of their new home. They’d found an abandoned farmhouse on the outskirts of the city, and while it would no doubt provide shelter against the coming winter, Arthur preferred the old cabin they’d found. The house showed its age in most places, whether it was brick showing through the thin walls or worn paint that was peeling. Most of the floorboards creaked, and there was a thick layer of dust that coated the furniture in most of the rooms. 

Yet the four of them had worked together to make it more inviting, and for the first time in a long while, Arthur had been given his own room. It was larger than what he’d ever had before with a window that overlooked the porch. There was an antique desk in the room beside the bed, and while Arthur had claimed he wouldn’t use it, it quickly became one of his favorite places to be.

By the time mid-August came, Arthur had decided to check the post office in town for a letter from Hosea. Arthur had sent a message to him as soon as they’d moved to Milwaukee to let him know where to send his letters, but when he asked the clerk for the seventh time that month if he had any mail, his heart dropped when he was told there was nothing for him. 

Arthur didn’t understand it, and he turned it over as he sat on a bench along a busy street. Surely Hosea would’ve replied if he’d received his letter. Of course, there was always the possibility that his most recent letter hadn’t made it to him yet. There was also the far worse scenario that _both _messages had made it to Hosea, and that Arthur had said something that made him not want to reply.

He tried to push the thought out of his mind, reasoning that Hosea may have sent another letter to Chicago before receiving the update. Arthur checked his pocket watch for the time and frowned. It was too late in the day to start his ride, at least not without Dutch and the women fussing over where he was. 

It was decided then that he would leave once everyone was asleep. Although he hadn’t accounted for the impromptu celebration Dutch had insisted on. According to Dutch, finding a new place in a new city was an accomplishment to celebrate, and Arthur tried his best to participate as little as he could. He had to ride out that night, no matter how late the party ended. The possibility of leaving a letter behind in Chicago would drive him mad, and the last thing he wanted to experience again was riding a horse while drunk. Simply recalling the memory made him feel sick. He had a twelve-hour ride ahead of him, and drinking beforehand would no doubt set him up for trouble. 

Arthur had finally realized that his luck was poor, and he knew better than to set himself up for failure.

As he sat in the parlor, thinking through the details of his plan, Dutch took the opportunity to sit beside him. The man wasn’t quite drunk yet, although judging by the brand new bottle of beer in his hand, he was well on his way to a drunken stupor. 

“You alright, son?” He asked.

The question took him off guard as he looked up at Dutch. “Sure, why?”

“You look deep in thought,”

Arthur shook his head. “You know me, I don’t think too much.”

He raised an eyebrow at that. “Nonsense! You think plenty!”

“Fine,” he sighed. “Guess I’m wondering what our next plan is.”

Dutch was quick to buy the lie as his face lit up. “You let me worry about that, Arthur. We’ll be alright here.”

“I trust you,” he replied, and that he knew wasn’t a lie. While the man wasn’t fully present, Arthur trusted Dutch to have his back. He knew the outlaw cared about him, knew it the moment Dutch had decided to take him in instead of handing him over to the police. 

Dutch smiled and gave his shoulder a squeeze before he rose to his feet and pulled Annabelle into his arms for a dance. Arthur chuckled at the sight. The only music in the room was the song Dutch was singing, but both Susan and Annabelle soon joined in. Arthur was more than happy to observe the excitement, but it wasn’t long before Susan pulled him onto his feet. He’d tried protesting against it, sputtering out excuses not to dance as he attempted to escape her grasp. Yet she didn’t accept any of it and instead led him in a dance despite his objections. She laughed as she taught him the basics, and he was surprised that he managed to get the hang of it before eventually excusing himself.

He sat at his desk as he waited for the commotion downstairs to quiet. Once everyone was in bed, or at least making their way to it, he grabbed his satchel and opened his window. He drew a deep breath of the late summer air as he eyed the crooked shingles of the porch before glancing over his shoulder at his closed door. For a brief moment, he considered telling Susan where he was going. Yet while she wouldn’t mind, she would certainly insist on going with him, and for reasons he couldn’t explain, he wanted to make the trip alone.

Perhaps it was to prove to himself that he could handle the ride and that he wasn’t as dependent on the others as he feared he was. However, it did occur to him that what he was about to do may have been his worst idea yet, but there was something about the deep twilight of the summer night that drew him to it. The idea of venturing into the unknown with nothing but his gunbelt, his satchel, and his horse was thrilling. It made the hair on the back of his neck stand on end as he eased himself onto the roof of the porch and dropped to the ground.

Arthur only paused six hours later to rest his horse. He let her graze beside him as he wrote in his journal underneath the starry sky. As late as it was, he couldn’t sleep. With every new wave of the aroma of the campfire and whispering through the trees, he felt a rush of excitement course through him. It was nearly dizzying, and Arthur could only stand sitting for just over an hour before tearing down his camp.

He made sure to pace Boadicea the rest of the way, and it was an hour past noon by the time he made it into Chicago. While he wanted to get to the post office as soon as he could, the growing ache in his stomach forced him to stop at a saloon for lunch. When he finished, he headed over to the post office, making sure to pass by Gimp’s usual street corner on the way. While it was a weekday, the boy wasn’t there. However, Arthur wasn’t too concerned. Gimp didn’t like to stay in one spot for too long, and Arthur knew of other places to look for him after he checked the post office. 

Much to Arthur’s surprise, there was another letter waiting for him. He happily took it and stowed the envelope away in his satchel before riding over to the park that was nearby. When he didn’t find Gimp there either, he sat down on a bench and pulled out Hosea’s letter.

All was well where Hosea was, although Arthur nearly thought he’d misread his words when Hosea mentioned how much he missed him. The cursive words forced him to pause, and he had to reread them twice before they finally registered. Arthur had to swallow back the swell of emotions Hosea’s sentiment stirred before finally finishing reading the letter.

He eventually returned the letter to his satchel before removing his journal to write his response. He mentioned again the change in cities, and how long the ride was from Milwaukee to Chicago. Arthur also wrote about the spontaneous celebration Dutch had held, and how he must’ve looked ridiculous when Miss Grimshaw had danced with him. A smile pulled at the corner of his mouth as he recalled the memory, and it left him reflecting how grateful he was for his unconventional family. It wasn’t a perfect family by any means, but in their own way, they loved and cared for him. 

After tearing out the page in his journal, he folded his letter and slipped them both into his satchel. He looked up at the sky to find a dark stretch of clouds from the north rolling in. His brow furrowed at the sight before checking his pocket watch. It was only two in the afternoon, yet if he set out now, he would certainly get caught in the storm. Arthur swore. He’d have to wait out the storm by renting a room if he wanted to stay dry, which meant he would be returning much later than he’d planned. There was no doubt that the women back at camp had noticed his absence by now, and he only hoped that his sudden disappearance hadn't caused them to worry.

He felt guilt cut through his heart like a knife at the thought. Of course they were worried. To think otherwise was foolish. Arthur muttered under his breath as he tucked his pocket watch back into his pocket. He would have plenty of explaining to do once he returned, but for now, he had to focus on finding a place to stay for the next few hours.

Yet before making his way to the saloon, he stopped by the general store to pick up some supplies. Miss Grimshaw's wrath would no doubt be waiting for him, and he hoped the small offering would be enough to earn her forgiveness. 

As Arthur filled his saddlebags with what he'd bought, the rumble of thunder in the distance reached his ears. He glanced upwards to find the sky dark as the once distant clouds drew closer. Without wasting any more time, he mounted Boadicea and rode over to the saloon. 

The smell of rain was thick on the air by the time he reached the familiar building. It was the same saloon where he and Annabelle had played poker, and he smiled at the memory and hitched Boadicea before entering through the wooden door. As he made his way to the counter, he was surprised to find that there weren't many patrons. The few that were there were either playing poker or nursing a drink by themselves. 

Arthur told the bartender he needed a room for a few hours, and before he could take the key the stocky gentleman held out to him, he felt a hand grab his shoulder. Arthur spun around instantly, his hand curling into a tight fist as he eyed the stranger beside him. The man's eyes were alight with panic as he looked down at Arthur. Something was clearly wrong, and he found himself unclenching his fist.

"You think you could help me, mister?" The gentleman said, and Arthur couldn't help but notice the tremble in his voice. "It's my dog, the thunder's done scared him, but I know he ain't far. I tried askin' these folks for help, but they ain't the kind sort."

Arthur hesitated briefly before finally giving in with a sigh. He of all people knew the trouble dogs could get into, and he knew he'd want someone to do the same for him if he ever lost Copper.

The gentleman thanked him profusely for his kindness before gesturing for Arthur to follow. As they left the saloon, Arthur could feel the first few drops of the storm on his forearms. They were cold compared to the warm air. As they walked down the street whistling and calling for the stranger's dog, Arthur worked on rolling his shirtsleeves down. Yet he was only halfway through the other when he felt a strong arm close around his neck from behind. A calloused hand clamped over his nose and mouth before he could react, and his hands flew up in an attempt to break free as he was dragged into an alley. The stranger behind him snickered in his ear at the attempt, and it was only when the man’s hand shifted to let him finally breathe through his nose that he realized how ragged his breaths were.

The gentleman who had lured him out of the bar smirked at him as he withdrew a knife. Arthur’s eyes widened, but his fear was quickly replaced with resentment as he realized the trick that had been played on him. He could feel the all too familiar heat of it in his face, his anger boiling hot just as much at himself as it did towards the stranger. The weasley man in front of him rested the edge of his blade against Arthur’s cheekbone, examining him as if he was some sort of prey he’d caught.

"Don't know why Colm wants this one," he finally said. "Take your hand off him, Clyde. I want a good look at this bastard."

The arm around Arthur's neck tightened as the grimy hand covering his mouth lifted and wrangled his wrists into its grip. The stranger in front of him took his face in his hand before squeezing painfully. Regardless, Arthur did his best to scowl at him, determined to fight against the two O'Driscolls as best as he could. Yet there was no denying the dread he felt when staring into the gray eyes of the man in front of him. They were unnerving as they sparkled with malice, and his twisted grin exposed a gap where a tooth had once been.

The stranger released his face before punching his temple, causing Arthur’s head to ring from the blow. The impact had stung, and it wasn't until he caught the glimmer of the man's rings that he realized why. 

“Do you know how hard you were to find? The kind of time we wasted searching for you?”

Arthur refused to answer. Instead, he spat in the O’Driscoll's face, and his defiance earned him another heavy blow to his jaw. The impact split his lip, causing blood to seep through the wound. He winced, tasting the familiar metallic tang of it on his tongue.

"Colm said we could take you in dead or alive," he continued as he held the knife to his throat. 

“He said _preferably_ alive, Allan,” Clyde corrected.

“Don’t see _why_,” he scoffed. “There ain’t much to you, but there’s somethin’ Colm sees in you. Or maybe he’s only seeing what he _doesn’t_ have.”

“_Allan,_”

“That kid sure put up one helluva fight though for a crip. Boy was fucking set on keeping his trap shut about where you were. Guess he thought himself a hero, but he ain’t gettin’ no headline, that’s for sure. Won’t be givin’ them anymore either!”

The blood drained from Arthur's face, the rain now coming down in heavy drops, and the man's grin only twisted higher at his reaction.

"Oh, I'm sorry. Was he your friend?"

Arthur didn't answer. How could he? All the air had been sucked from his lungs at the revelation. His heart seized, felt as if it had collapsed, caused his chest to cave in as his stomach churned with guilt. His mind raced with a dozen questions before his string of thought frayed and ignited like a powder keg. A white-hot rage consumed him. The heat and intensity of it were unfamiliar to him, and it blurred everything in his vision except for the man and his terrible smirk.

The man only smiled wider at the fire in his eyes, completely unphased by Arthur’s anger as he lowered his knife. “There it is. That’s gotta be what Colm wants.”

A crack of thunder ripped through the air. The sound snapped Arthur into motion, moving without thinking, and blind with fury. He lifted his foot and used all his strength to slam his heel onto Clyde’s toes before sinking his teeth into the soft flesh of his forearm. The O’Driscoll released him with a strangled cry, and Arthur seized his window of opportunity and lunged forward.

He’d been chastised one too many times for hesitating, was tired of making the same mistake over and over and suffering the consequences. Not this time. No, he would not look back on this night and recall anything of the sort. Arthur refused to. Hesitation showed weakness, and that was the last thing he felt running through his veins.

The two of them tumbled to the slick pavement. Arthur scrambled for the O’Driscolls knife as he struggled to stay on top. Allan had been momentarily stunned, but it only took a brief moment before he began doing everything in his strength to throw Arthur off him. The rain by now was ruthlessly pelting down on them. It made it difficult for Arthur to see, and it was by luck alone that he managed to rip the knife from Allan’s hand.

His hand flew high above his head and came down without thinking twice. It was sheer instinct urged on by his ire, and he repeated the action, the blade sinking deep into the O’Driscolls neck and chest with each thrust.

It was on an upswing that he felt a hand seize his wrist. His arm was then twisted behind his back as he was hauled off the dying man. Arthur thrashed wildly before finally unsheathing his knife with his left hand, blindly thrusting the blade backward into Clyde’s throat. 

The pressure around his wrist disappeared all at once, and he stumbled backward, letting go of his knife as the body crumpled to the ground.

Arthur leaned against the brick wall and panted as he took in the gory mess before him. Clyde was still alive, or at least alive enough for Arthur to hear his gurgling shallow breaths. The other was most certainly dead and had fallen still where he lay. 

His heart pounded against his ribs as he felt his hair stand on end.

_He _had done that.

Arthur swallowed and drew a deep, shuddering breath.

What had he done?

His stomach turned at the thought, and he found himself leaning over and retching what little he had in it. Arthur wiped his mouth when he’d finished and tried to take steadier breaths. Once he’d managed to calm down, he pulled his knife out of the O’Driscoll and wiped it clean on the man’s shirt before sheathing it. 

Arthur took in the sight one last time before it occurred to him that he needed to get himself far away. He quickly looted the bodies and sprinted towards Boadicea before mounting her. She seemed to sense his urgency as her ears swiveled backward, prancing in place nervously before Arthur urged her to a gallop.

It wasn’t long before Arthur found himself in front of the city’s hospital. The tall building was the only one of its kind, and he swallowed hard before forcing himself to dismount. 

If Gimp was anywhere, it would be here, and he hoped with everything he had that he would find him inside. Not finding the boy inside would only mean one thing, and Arthur let the thought pass as quickly as it came.

He steeled himself as he made his way toward the double wooden doors of Mercy Hospital. Arthur drew a deep breath, brushed his slick wet hair out of his face, and looked down at himself. He scowled. Blood had stained his rain-soaked shirt, darkening it with spatters and streaks. The shirt was no doubt ruined, and he quickly thought of a cover story for the crimson stains.

Arthur stepped through the door and walked over to the nurse at the front desk. She had been thumbing through a stack of papers when she finally noticed him. Her eyes lifted to him, and her eyebrows lifted in surprise as she removed her glasses and looked him over. 

“Good heavens, child! How are you even standing with all that blood?” 

He shook his head. “S’not mine. I work for the butcher down the way.”

“And what of those bruises and cuts on your face?”

“I slipped and fell down some stairs,”

She exhaled a sigh of relief as she placed a hand over her heart. “You nearly scared me half to death!”

“Sorry,” he said as he offered an apologetic smile. “I’m lookin’ for someone. He’s about thirteen, has a lame leg?”

She frowned in thought, the crease adding yet another line to her wrinkled brow. “Does he have dark curly hair?”

Arthur’s heart leaped in his chest. “Yes!”

“Are you a friend of his?” 

He nodded. “Can I see him?”

“Of course, I’ll take you right to him,”

She led him up the stairs to a long room. Metal frame beds lined either side, and there were a few nurses and doctors who were making their rounds. Arthur grimaced as a pungent smell reached his nose. It was unlike any he'd ever smelled before. He tried not to think about it too much as he followed the nurse.

Eventually, they came to a stop beside one of the beds, and it took all Arthur had to lift his eyes to the still figure in his peripheral. 

The sight was gut-wrenching. Violet contusions painted Gimp's face, and Arthur was grateful for the bed sheet that covered the rest of the damage. He swallowed and looked over at the woman. 

"Is he going to be alright?"

Her eyebrows pulled together in pity. "I'm afraid I can't say for sure. His injuries are extensive, and the poor thing doesn't have much money left."

Arthur didn’t hesitate to remove what money he had in his satchel, and after handing it to her, he then pulled out the rings, pocket watches, and belt buckles he’d looted and placed them in her hand. 

She took a double-take at the items and money as she held them against her to keep it all in her grasp. The nurse gave Arthur a questioning look, but he ignored it as he sat on the edge of Gimp’s bed. 

The shifting of the bed woke Gimp, and Arthur heard the nurse walk away as the boy slowly opened his heavy eyes. When he recognized Arthur, a small grin pulled at the corner of his mouth. “Huck? S’that really you?” 

“It’s really me,” he smiled.

He shifted in an attempt to sit up but winced at the effort.

Arthur’s smile fell as he scooted closer to keep the young teen from moving, his hand gently keeping him still by firmly resting on his shoulder. “Hey, what do you think you’re doing?”

“I just want to see you better,” he grimaced before looking Arthur over. “You look like hell.”

“Gee thanks,”

“Did they do that?”

“They did, only because I let my guard down,”

Gimp frowned. “They tried askin’ about you, but I swear I didn’t say a word!”

“I know you didn’t, but I wish you did,” he sighed. “It’s my fault that you’re here.”

“It really ain’t. I was the one who wanted to help you first, and I still do.”

Arthur shook his head. “I’m hopin’ you won’t have to.”

“What do you mean?”

“I don’t plan on coming back to Chicago. I’ve worn out my welcome here, and stickin’ around will only put you in more danger.”

He blinked, and there was no mistaking the sorrow in his warm brown eyes. “You ain’t coming back?”

Arthur shook his head.

“Ever?”

“I’m sorry, Gimp,”

The boy pushed Arthur’s hand off his shoulder and tried sitting up once again, although he’d only made it halfway before crying out. Arthur’s heart twisted in his chest as he helped Gimp lie down once again. Tears brimmed at the corner of his tightly closed eyes, and it wasn’t until after the wave of pain had subsided that he opened them again.

“Please don’t go, Arthur,” he pleaded. “You’re the closest thing I’ve ever had to a brother.”

Arthur swallowed and drew a deep breath. “I have to, Henry. These people are gonna take care of you.”

Gimp shook his head. “There was talk that they was gonna put me back on the street in three days because I ain’t got the money to pay.”

“I’ve taken care of it. You’re gonna be fine. Hell, they may just take care of that leg of yours too.”

“You think?”

“Sure,” he grinned. “You’ll be as good as new by the time you get outta here!” 

Gimp didn’t say anything. Instead, he made a feeble attempt to pull Arthur closer. Arthur gave in to the simple gesture, and when he was close enough, the boy wrapped his arms around Arthur’s neck in a hug. 

Arthur did his best to brace himself against the surge of emotions the embrace caused. He felt the waves of it hit the back of his throat and flood his chest. In no way did Arthur deserve his respect, nor the deep friendship between them. Gimp was far kinder to him than he ever had to be. Even now, after all the damage he’d caused, he was _still_ kind. It baffled Arthur. He couldn’t understand it, couldn’t grasp why Gimp cared about someone like him so much, someone who only left destruction in his wake.

Arthur eventually managed to pull his arms off his neck and straightened himself. While he offered Gimp a smile, the boy looked as if he was about to cry. As much as the sight tore Arthur apart, removing himself from Gimp’s life was for the best. It was for his own good, and most of all, it would keep him safe.

“You stay out of trouble, alright?”

A small grin pulled at the corner of Gimp’s mouth. “Says the guy who reeks of it!” 

Arthur rolled his eyes. “Very funny.”

After reluctantly saying goodbye to each other, Arthur made his way down the stairs and stepped out into the rain again. It was still pouring, and he found himself soaked to the bone once again in an instant. His clothes clung to him uncomfortably as he mounted Boadicea and began his ride back to Milwaukee. While he was cold and wet, Arthur knew his best option was to head straight home. Dutch hadn’t been exaggerating when he’d said Chicago had been crawling with O’Driscolls, and lingering in the city would be unwise. 

He didn’t stop during his ride back to the farmhouse. The rain had been relentless all night, and stopping would only prolong the chill he couldn’t shake. Even if the rain had stopped, there would be no logs or sticks dry enough to make a fire. Arthur was absolutely miserable, and he knew he would only find relief once he was back home.

The rain finally cleared up after a few hours, and soon enough, the clouds had parted to unveil the rising sun. Any other day, Arthur would’ve stopped to admire the sight, but he hardly noticed it. He was still reeling from all that had happened, and seeing the farmhouse on the horizon that morning was better than any sunrise he’d seen.

Arthur urged Boadicea from a walk to a gallop. His clothes were still damp, and he had spent his whole ride shivering. He dismounted once he was near the barn and led her inside the gate. As he removed her tack, he heard the porch door swing open and bang against the side of the house. Arthur jumped at the sound and nearly dropped the saddle in his arms. After setting the wet saddle on the fence, he turned to find Dutch hastily making his way over to him. The man looked disheveled. His shirt was unbuttoned more than usual, and his hair was curlier due to neglect. When Dutch reached him, he didn’t hesitate to pull him into his arms, hugging him tightly against himself. 

The teen didn’t protest. Dutch’s embrace was the first ounce of warmth he’d felt all night, and it wasn’t long before he heard Annabelle and Susan as they ran over to them. 

When Dutch finally let Arthur go, he held him by his shoulders at an arm’s length to get a good look at him. Arthur could only imagine the sad sight that he was. His head ached something fierce, and he could feel the sore cuts and bruises on his face. He lowered his gaze to his shirt, finding that the rain hadn’t washed away as much blood as he’d hoped it would. 

“Where the hell have you been, son?” Dutch demanded.

“I—”

“We’ve been worried sick!” Susan interrupted as she took hold of Arthur’s chin and examined his face with wide eyes. “What happened to you?” 

“Some men tried robbin’ me,” he lied. “I handled it.”

“And what took you so damn long? It’s been more than twenty-four hours since we’ve last seen you!”

He hesitated before answering. “I went back to Chicago.”

Her jaw fell open, and the brief silence that followed his statement was deafening. “You did _what?_”

“I—”

Her shock quickly turned into anger. “And you didn’t think to leave a note? We spent all day and night searching for you! What on Earth convinced you that was a good idea to just up and leave like that?” 

Arthur went quiet as his eyes flitted to the muddy ground, feeling shame creep into his cheeks.

“You could’ve gotten seriously hurt! Even—” Susan cut herself off short and swallowed, unable to voice, let alone bear the thought, of Arthur losing his life. “You’re a complete mess! If I didn’t know any better I’d have guessed you’d been rolling around in a pig pen!” 

Annabelle watched the two of them fuss over Arthur with pity. The teen had become silent and unresponsive to the barrage of questions. His apathy had returned with renewed strength, and after another moment, she found she couldn’t handle it any longer.

“Why don’t the two of you get a warm bath going and make him something warm to eat while I get him out of these wet clothes?” Annabelle finally suggested as she sidled up to Arthur and wrapped an arm around his shoulders.

Susan and Dutch agreed to the idea, although not without a few more complaints about Arthur’s sudden disappearance. Annabelle only shook her head as she led him into the house and up the stairs into his room. Her blue eyes looked him over as she gently cradled his face in her hands. He looked exhausted beyond words, and there was a distant look in his eyes. Between his injuries and the blood on his shirt, there was no doubt that something terrible had happened back in Chicago. She lightly brushed her thumb over the cut at his temple. Despite the touch being as tender as it was, he winced and flinched away.

She felt her throat grow tight, and without thinking twice, she pulled him into a gentle hug. Annabelle didn’t care that his wet shirt felt cold and uncomfortable against her arms, nor the fact that it had made her blouse damp. She could feel him trembling against her, and when she let go, she instructed him to take off the shirt that was making him cold. 

Annabelle took it from him when he did, and it was only when the shirt was in her hands that she realized just how much dried blood had stained the fabric. Her eyes flicked up to Arthur, who was fidgeting with his hands. There wasn’t a single scratch on his torso, and the realization that dawned on her had her blood running cold.

“This isn’t your blood, is it?”

He shook his head.

“Is it from those robbers?”

He only dipped his chin down ever so slightly in the affirmative.

She pulled a blanket off his bed before wrapping it around him. “Do you want to talk about it?”

He was quiet for a while before taking a shuddering breath. While he shook his head, he rested his forehead against her shoulder as his breath hitched. Annabelle wrapped her arms around him once again and rubbed his back. Yet while she expected to hear sobs, there were none, and it broke her heart. Arthur was denying himself the cathartic purging that he so desperately needed, was once again repressing things he should be processing. 

She had opened her mouth to voice her thoughts when Dutch hollered up the stairs to announce that the bath was ready. Annabelle sighed and released Arthur. She watched as he wordlessly gathered some clean clothes from the armoire in the corner before leaving the room.

Annabelle stood where she was for a while, her fingers absentmindedly toying with the fabric that was still in her hands. When she’d finally sorted her thoughts, she made her way down the steps and threw away the ruined shirt before entering the parlor where Dutch was reading. He was lounging on the worn settee, his feet propped on the armrest and brow furrowed deep in thought. She could tell he wasn’t truly reading, and she could only guess that his mind was more preoccupied with Arthur rather than the thick book in his hand. A wistful smile pulled at the corner of Annabelle’s mouth as she made a place for herself atop Dutch’s lap.

He smiled as he set his book to the side. “Can I help you?”

“Thank you for helping with the bath,”

“Of course,” he replied. “Did Arthur say anything to you?”

“No, but I’m almost certain the poor boy had no choice but to kill those robbers in self-defense,”

“You think so?” 

She nodded. “It would explain why he’s so distraught, not to mention the amount of blood he came home with on his shirt.”

“He’s stronger than I thought he was,”

“Pardon?”

“Taking on who knows how many full-grown men by himself and coming away with only a bruised face? That’s quite impressive for his age.”

She frowned. “It might be, but he isn’t coping with it well, Dutch. I’m worried about him.”

He sighed and sat up to press his lips to her forehead. “I know, I am too.”

“Has he ever gone off on his own like that?”

“Not for that long, which is why Susan and I were scared beyond belief,” his eyes lowered. “I couldn’t sleep all night.”

“Nor could I,”

“I kept wondering if he had decided to run away or had gotten into trouble,”

She tilted her head. “You really thought he’d run away?”

Dutch shrugged. “Surely you’ve noticed how he’s been lately. The boy hasn’t been the same since…”

“Since Hosea left?”

He sighed. “Yes. Some days I feel like I don’t matter to that boy. He doesn’t look at me the same way he looked at Hosea, never has.”

Annabelle gently took his chin in her hand and tilted his face upwards. “Maybe that’s because you fill a different role for him, but regardless, Arthur looks up to you. Don’t you see that? He may be stubborn as hell, but he does try to please you.”

A small smile lifted his lips. “What would I do without you?”

“Nothin’ good, that’s for sure,” she teased.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And to think I initially tagged this fic as light angst. Whoops 😅
> 
> I'm so sorry for not changing that tag sooner friends! I promise there's some good feels on the way!!! <3 
> 
> Much love to you all <3


	10. Pity and Fear

Arthur’s eyes followed the bubbles that floated along the steaming water as the morning light reflected off their opalescent surface. He sank lower into the bath, the crease between his brows deepening. While his body ached with exhaustion, his mind raced with countless questions and fears. When he wasn’t wondering how angry Dutch and Susan would be or what would happen to him, the all too vivid memory of killing the two O’Driscolls replayed relentlessly. It was an endless cycle, one that only magnified the weariness he felt in his bones. He glanced up at the window, hoping the clouds illuminated by the sun’s golden light would grant him some reprieve from his murky thoughts, yet not even the brilliance of a new day supplied the peace he was so desperate for. 

Arthur was, however, thankful that his shivering had finally stopped, or at least it had for now. 

Distantly he heard Annabelle and Dutch’s voice in the next room over, and he was relieved that their tones had lost the tension that was there earlier. Although it did occur to him that he may have only been hearing what he wanted to hear. Arthur swallowed and scrubbed at the skin on his arm.

He had failed them, _disappointed _them even. Of course he was hearing what he wanted to hear. Arthur had made his worst mistake yet, and surely Dutch had realized his own foolish mistake of taking him under his wing in the first place. Arthur wasn’t sure how he’d fooled them all into thinking otherwise for so long. He was a nobody, and that was all he would ever be.

Someone worth more dead than alive.

He scowled and began scrubbing harder at his skin, wishing he could wash away his guilt.

A knock on the door startled him, and soon after, he heard Susan tell him that there was a bowl of soup ready for him. 

Arthur thanked her and looked down at his arm. The skin was red and angry, nearly rubbed raw. His throat grew tight. It had been unintentional, had hardly noticed the pain caused by his efforts until now, and he was glad he’d brought down a long-sleeved shirt to wear.

Once he was dressed, he made his way over to the dining room, where he saw the pot of soup sitting on the stove. Yet before he could help himself to a bowl, Copper ran into the room and greeted him. His tail was a blur as he nosed Arthur’s hand with delighted wines. The sight made Arthur smile, and he made sure to give his ears a thorough scratching before sitting down at the table with a bowl of soup. Copper settled down next to him, lying on the floor beside his chair.

Arthur knew he was hungry. After he’d caught the savory aroma hanging in the air, his stomach had instantly announced that it was ready for a meal. Yet, he had no appetite, but even so, he forced himself to eat. There was no doubt in his mind that Susan had worked hard to prepare the soup, and he refused to show any disrespect by choosing not to eat.

Dutch joined him not long after, and Arthur reflexively tensed as he waited for what was to come. While he continued to keep his eyes lowered to his bowl, he watched out of the corner of his eye as Dutch took a seat next to him. Arthur swallowed and braced himself. He was stupid for going off on his own and back into a city where he _knew _he had more enemies than friends. Arthur had only seen glimpses of Dutch’s anger, and he felt his chest grow tight at the realization.

Was Dutch physical when he was angry? Or was he the kind of man who lashed out with words that cut to the quick? 

Arthur nearly jumped out of his skin when he felt Dutch place a hand on his shoulder, causing his spoon to clatter to the floor.

The reaction made Dutch’s heart sink, and he gently squeezed his shoulder before picking up the spoon and setting it beside the bowl. It had been a long while since he’d seen Arthur as skittish as he was now. Nearly two years, in fact. His brow furrowed as he returned his hand to his side, and he nearly winced when he noticed Arthur relax after removing his hand.

“How are you feeling, son?” He finally asked.

“Fine,”

Dutch lifted an eyebrow. The boy was lying through his teeth, could hear it in the tremble of his voice. “Arthur…” 

He was silent for a while before drawing a deep breath. “I wasn’t sure if I was gonna make it. Those men came out of nowhere! And I didn’t know I’d killed them until after I…”

Dutch lightly rubbed Arthur’s back as his voice trailed off, careful not to startle the boy again. “Oh, Arthur, you did nothing wrong. Those men had it coming, and you only did what was necessary to save yourself.”

While Arthur nodded to satisfy Dutch, there was still a seed of doubt in his gut. He understood that his actions were purely self-defense, but his lack of hesitancy to kill the two men in the alley scared him. It was just two years ago when he could hardly harm a rabbit, let alone a person, and it left him wondering just when all that had changed.

Dutch continued to sit with him as he finished his meal, knowing that the teen needed comfort but unsure how to give it. After a moment of uncomfortable silence (that he could hardly bare), he decided to tell Arthur the story of how he and Hosea had met. His retelling quickly captured Arthur’s full attention, and soon enough, there was a small smile on his face. It only made Dutch’s grin wider as he told his tale, making sure to cover the fact that it was _he_ who had successfully stolen from Hosea and not the other way around.

“I remember it like it was yesterday! The man came strolling up to my campfire and started talking the instant we made eye contact. I let him talk, let him give his long-winded story about health cures, and how he had a few things that were guaranteed to work. He claimed he needed to _inspect_ me, although little did he know that there was little on my person, and by the time he was done, I’d about robbed him blind!”

Arthur laughed. “What did he do?”

“He was completely flabbergasted! Hosea had no idea I’d robbed him while he was trying to do the same to me.” He chuckled to himself as he recalled the memory. “We had a good laugh about it, and it was at that moment we realized how good of a team we’d make. Between his storytelling and my pickpocketing skills, we had no reservations about it.”

Arthur shook his head. “Of course you two met trying to rob each other.”

“I have no doubt that it was fate that drew us together,”

He leaned back in his chair and stared out the window for a moment before meeting Dutch’s twinkling eyes. “Do you think he’ll ever come back?” 

Dutch’s smile fell at the question. He’d been asking himself the same thing since Hosea left, and to know for a fact that Arthur was wondering the same thing, broke his heart. It left him remembering all the things that he wasn’t for the teen, and he once again tried to ignore the guilt that came from knowing he’d been the one to cause the pain that flickered in Arthur’s eyes. “I don’t know, son. He didn’t say.”

“I miss him,” he sighed. 

“Me too,” Dutch eyed him for a moment. “Why were you in Chicago, Arthur?”

Arthur tensed as he averted his gaze. He could tell by Dutch’s tone that the man already knew the answer to his question, and he worried his lip between his teeth before finally answering. “Hosea and I have been sending letters to each other, and I had to go back for one.”

He mulled over his response before gently patting his back. “Get some rest, son. You look like death.” 

Arthur nodded and made his way up to his room with Copper following close behind. He felt dead on his feet after all that had happened, and he practically collapsed onto his bed once he’d reached it. 

Yet, his sleep was anything but restful. His dreams were plagued by nightmares, and while such dreams were nothing new to him, it had been almost a year since they’d been the kind that left him sitting upright, drenched in sweat, and panting for air. 

He was startled awake for the fifth time, eyes wide and shirt damply clinging to him as he stared at the ceiling, trying to will the terrible images away that lingered in his mind. He felt a weight settle on his chest and looked over to find Copper’s head there. His soulful brown eyes stared up at him, and Arthur quietly praised him. He then left his bed, changed his shirt, and sat down at his desk, where he pulled out his journal and pencil and set to work.

As he wrote, Arthur couldn’t help but feel like a child again. While he was grateful for his own room where no one would hear him call out, there was a part of him that longed for someone to be by his side. It frustrated him that he felt that way, and it only made him yearn for Hosea’s presence even more. It was Hosea who used to calm him down from such hellish nightmares, nightmares that left him struggling to grasp what was and wasn’t real.

But Hosea wasn’t there, and Arthur was well on his way to becoming seventeen. He was too old to be yearning for such childish comforts, and he was convinced that he had to figure it out for himself how to deal with the dreams that tormented him.

It came as no surprise to Susan when Arthur came down with a cold. She had seen it coming a mile away and had even tried warning the others. Annabelle had been more receptive to her cautioning, but Dutch, on the other hand, had tried to convince her that Arthur was simply tired from his long and eventful night.

By the third day after Arthur’s return, he was running a high fever. It worried Susan, and she (as well as Copper) dutifully stayed by Arthur’s bedside, keeping a damp cloth to his forehead in an attempt to give him some sort of relief. 

Dutch did, however, ride into town to speak with the doctor regarding what remedies to use. Yet all the while, he couldn’t help but wish he remembered how to make the natural remedies Hosea had tried to teach him. Hosea would’ve known what to do, and Dutch was once again reminded of his shortcomings.

Annabelle took charge of the cooking while Susan stayed by Arthur’s side. She could see the fear in her eyes, and it was the least she could do for both Susan and Arthur. 

Meanwhile, Arthur felt miserable. There was nothing he could do to get comfortable, and his throat burned like fire. He hardly had the energy to sit up when it was time to eat, although he was oddly grateful for that aspect as it was a temporary reprieve from his nightmares.

Yet he felt guilty for the way he seemed to take up everyone’s time and energy, and it left him wondering once again how people who didn’t share the same blood could care so deeply for him. 

As sick as he was, Arthur still noticed the way Susan looked at him sometimes. Arthur had been sick before, had even suffered from worse ailments, but despite his attempts to convince her so, she still worried over him as if he would slip out of her grasp at any moment.

Dutch even spent nights by his side, relieving Susan from her self-assigned guard duty after thoroughly assuring her he’d wake her if anything were to happen. For reasons Arthur couldn’t explain, he found Dutch’s presence deeply comforting. He appreciated the motherly care that came from both Susan and Annabelle, but having Dutch beside him, both reassured and anchored him. Despite the all too fresh images of the O’Driscolls that still lingered at the forefront of his mind, he felt safe in Dutch’s presence. 

A raspy cough had settled in his lungs by the fifth night, and Dutch watched the boy sleep with pity. While there were dark circles that had settled beneath his eyes, he was glad to find that some color had returned to his face. He gently carded his fingers through Arthur’s hair before feeling his forehead with his wrist. Dutch breathed out a sigh of relief, finding that his fever had left for good. 

While he wouldn't admit it to just anyone, he had feared that they would lose Arthur. The teen had been sick before, but never quite like this. The worst part, that he didn't even admit to himself, was that in the back of his mind, he felt responsible for it all. He did not doubt that Arthur had only returned to Chicago for a letter from Hosea that he’d missed. It was no secret that the two of them had been corresponding for a few weeks now, and Dutch tried to ignore the fact that Arthur wouldn’t have put himself in such a dangerous situation if he’d only let him go.

He let the thought pass as quickly as it had come before lifting his eyes from Arthur to a book on his desk. He picked it up and began to read, desperate for anything that would distract him. Yet before he could reach the fourth chapter, he saw the teen stir out of the corner of his eye. Dutch’s gaze flicked up to him to find a deep frown carved between his brows, and it was only when he stirred again with a groan that he realized Arthur was having a nightmare. His breathing had picked up in speed, and Dutch tried to soothe him by gently rubbing his arm. The touch, while it was meant to be comforting, startled Arthur awake. His eyes flew open, bright with fear.

Dutch gently shushed him and quietly spoke to Arthur as the teen regained his grasp of reality. Arthur swallowed hard and squeezed his eyes shut as he tried to force himself to relax, trying to focus on the soothing touch of Dutch’s fingers running through his hair.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

Arthur shook his head.

His silence left Dutch at a loss for words, not knowing if he should press for answers or simply drop the subject. After a lengthy pause, he decided not to pry. The teen had faced enough nagging from Susan, and he figured Arthur didn’t need another adult fussing over every little thing. If Arthur didn’t want to talk about it, Dutch figured he didn’t have to. 

It took Arthur several more days to start feeling like himself again. Yet while his sickness soon became nothing more than a quiet cough, his vivid nightmares still robbed him of his sleep. He soon started to sleep on the floor, his arm wrapped around Copper with him pulled against his chest. The coonhound didn't seem to mind, and soon enough, his nightmares were reduced to nothing more than remnants of unwanted memories. 

Arthur watched Copper run through the colorful Autumn leaves that had fallen to the ground. The cool September air, while pleasant, was a stinging reminder of how long Hosea had been gone. It left Arthur dreading the long, cold months that were to come. 

However, he didn’t have the chance to linger on the thought for too long as the familiar sound of hooves reached his ears. Arthur stiffened as his hand hovered over his holstered revolver, knowing that the others were inside the house. They never had visitors, and he felt the hair on the back of his neck stand on end as the sound drew closer. Arthur whistled for Copper to return to his side as he stood on guard, waiting with bated breath and hoping that whoever was approaching would change directions.

He then felt his blood turn to ice at a thought. Had the O’Driscolls found them? Had they come to finish the job and avenge their fallen men? 

Arthur wrapped his fingers around the grip of his revolver as he drew a deep breath, preparing himself for what was to come.

Yet there was nothing he could’ve done to prepare himself for the sight he saw. 

He took a double-take, blinked hard, and squinted at the two riders nearing the house. 

It was Hosea and Bessie, and his jaw fell open as they dismounted and started walking over to him. He had to be dreaming, surely what he saw was only an illusion. Yet Arthur’s doubt quickly dispersed when Hosea smiled at him, and he felt hope take flight within his chest and sing through him. Arthur ran toward him without hesitation and hugged him tightly, burying his head in his shoulder. 

Hosea nearly stumbled backward with the impact, and he returned the tight embrace as he pressed his lips to his hair. Eventually, he had to pry Arthur’s arms off him, and he held the teen’s face in his hands as he gave him a thorough once-over look.

“Look at how much you’ve grown!” Hosea mused aloud.

Arthur rolled his eyes, although he still smiled ear to ear. “I ain’t grown _that _much!”

Hosea chuckled to himself before dropping his hands to his side to let Bessie hug him. She held him tightly against her before finally letting him go and smoothing his hair out from his eyes. “No, I think Hosea’s right!”

Arthur bashfully looked away as he scratched the back of his neck. “Thanks.”

“And this must be the infamous Copper,” Hosea remarked as he knelt and held his hand out to Copper. The coonhound gave it a tentative sniff before relaxing and letting Hosea pet him.

“That’s him,” 

“He’s lovely!” Bessie said as she gently petted the dog’s head. “Are the others inside?” 

“They are,”

Hosea straightened himself at that. “Then what are we waiting for?”

The two of them received a warm welcome from both Susan and Dutch. In fact, Dutch had pulled Hosea into a crushing hug that had the older outlaw asking him to ease up. Arthur laughed at the sight, and for the first time in months, he felt a weight lift from his chest. The scene before him felt like something from a dream, except he knew his dreams were never as wonderful as this.

Dutch introduced the two of them to Annabelle, and it wasn’t long after that the man had decided the occasion required a party to celebrate their homecoming. Arthur gladly took part in the festivities, drinking and singing with the others until he felt his head swim with liquor. Once again, he was pulled into a dance by Miss Grimshaw, to which he humored her without complaint. 

Eventually, the excitement died down as people turned in. Soon enough, it was only Arthur and Hosea sitting on either side of the fireplace. By now, Arthur had sobered up enough to where the room had stopped spinning, and the two of them chatted as if hardly any time had passed between them. Yet, despite the warm welcome Hosea had received from Arthur, there was something about him that had changed. Hosea couldn’t put his finger on it, but even in the fire light, the teen’s eyes seemed uncharacteristically dull. It concerned him, although he knew better than to tarnish the pleasant evening by questioning Arthur now.

After a while, Arthur’s gaze shifted to the burning hearth as his smile dropped. He swallowed and idly scratched his arm before speaking. “It’s good to have you back.”

“It’s good to be back,” he sighed.

“I didn’t think I was ever gonna see you again,”

Hosea’s brow furrowed at that before he leaned forward and placed a hand on his shoulder. “I’m sorry, Arthur. I truly did want to say goodbye in person.”

“That’s what Dutch said,”

“Anyway,” he started as he straightened himself, “know that you’re stuck with me now. I won’t ever be leaving you again, promise.”

Arthur looked up to meet Hosea’s sincere eyes, and he tried to disguise the hitch in his lungs as a sigh. For a brief moment, he considered telling Hosea everything, from running into Colm, to Gimp and how he’d killed two men. His heart hammered against his chest as though it was trying to break through, yet something restrained him from speaking as if wiring his jaw shut, and the only thing he managed to get out was a nod. 

“Well,” Hosea sighed, “I think I’m going to turn in for the night. I’ll see you in the morning, Arthur.”

What warmth Hosea had seen in Arthur hardly lasted the week. The teen was how he feared he’d find him, listless and cold. Since getting to know him, Arthur had been easy to read, and there wasn’t any question in his mind that something (or several somethings) had happened while he was gone. Witnessing his new apathetic demeanor was alarming, and he was determined to get to the bottom of what had caused the shift. 

He waited until Arthur was sitting by himself on the front porch to talk to him. With his rifle slung over his shoulder, he gave Arthur’s boot a gentle nudge. He peered up from underneath the brim of his hat with a raised eyebrow and took a drag on his cigarette. 

“Hosea,” 

“You wanna go hunting?” 

He snorted. “You ain’t even back for a full week, and you want to go hunting?” 

“Not quite,” he chuckled, “more like I’ve been gone for nearly six months, and I want to go hunting with _you_.”

“Uh-huh, you’re just scared of what you’ll find in these woods,”

Hosea rolled his eyes. “Listen, I’m going hunting with or without you, so which is it?”

Arthur laughed as he rose to his feet. “Alright, alright, calm down!” 

He smiled to himself, and it wasn’t long before they had their horses ready to go and were riding out. Arthur led the way to a meadow he’d found a week ago, and after dismounting, they found a place amidst the tall grass to bide their time. 

“So, how’ve you been?” Hosea whispered after a while.

He shrugged. “Fine.”

He cocked an eyebrow. “Are you sure?”

“Yes, I’m sure!” Arthur hissed. “Now, are you gonna be quiet or not? You’re gonna scare everything away if you keep talkin’.”

While he had a point, Hosea wasn’t satisfied with his answer. If anything, it only confirmed his suspicions.

Their hunt had been successful, earning them two large deer that would keep them fed for a while. Yet the pride Arthur felt was short-lived when Hosea resumed his prying questions once they’d removed the tack from their horses and let them into the paddock.

“So, when are you going to tell me what’s bothering you?” Hosea asked as he adjusted the deer that was over his shoulder.

“I don’t know what the hell you’re talkin’ about,” he muttered as he began to skin his deer.

“I think you do,”

Arthur swore under his breath. “I really don’t!”

“Arthur, you know you can—”

“Would you just stop already?” Arthur snapped. “You’ve been pestering me all day over nothin’!”

His sharp tone surprised Hosea, and he found himself speechless.

Arthur was quick to march himself inside once they’d finished, and Hosea decided to sit on the front porch as he attempted to sort through his thoughts. He shook his head and lit a cigarette, staring off at the treeline as the end began to smolder. The last thing Hosea wanted to do was push Arthur away. Every fiber of him wanted to repair any damage that had been done to the boy during his absence. He’d had the sense even before he and Bessie had given their cabin away to a one-legged veteran, that something had happened to Arthur. There was no explaining it other than gut instinct, and he despised the fact that he’d been right.

The front door beside him opened, and he jumped as his train of thought came to a screeching halt. Hosea looked over to find Annabelle, and he offered her a small smile. 

“Afternoon,” he greeted. 

She returned his smile and sat down beside him. “How was your hunting trip?”

“I’d say it was successful, although I seem to be getting nowhere with Arthur,”

“He’ll warm up to you again,” she replied. “Poor thing’s been through a lot.”

He sighed. “That’s what I feared. If you don’t mind me asking, what happened, exactly?”

“He had a run-in with some nasty robbers, came back that day with cuts and bruises before catching a cold from all the rain he’d ridden through,”

Hosea’s eyes snapped up to hers. “He _what?_”

She looked down as she smoothed her dress. “He just hasn’t been the same since, and I’m worried about him.”

It took a minute for Hosea to process the news, and when he did, he flicked his cigarette to the side and curtly excused himself as he made his way to Dutch’s room. 

He didn’t bother to knock, too livid to even consider paying him such a courtesy. Dutch looked up from his journal with a frown, both confused and annoyed by Hosea’s sudden intrusion. Although he didn’t have the chance to ask the question that was on his lips before Hosea had marched himself over. His eyes burned bright with anger as he stared down at Dutch. The man was now sitting up straight in his armchair, ready to parry the verbal assault Hosea had coming.

“Just when were you going to tell me about Arthur nearly losing his life?”

Dutch scoffed. “When _he _decided to.”

“That isn’t the kind of information one just _chooses_ to withhold!” 

“Says the man who was so determined to leave part of his family behind!”

Hosea drew a steadying breath through his nose. “I _tried _to take him with me, Dutch. As I recall, you left me with no choice.”

He set his jaw and narrowed his eyes as he rose to his feet. “Do you want to know how he got into that mess in the first place? He was riding to Chicago, _by himself_, just to get your damn letter! That’s how!”

“No,” he jabbed a finger into his chest, “you don’t get to put the blame on me that easily!”

Dutch took a step closer, their faces only inches apart. “We needed you, Hosea, and you decided to leave us. I needed—”

Hosea felt his anger return to a simmer as the other man’s voice faltered, and Dutch’s dark heated gaze lowered to the floor as his shoulders slumped. “Dutch…”

“I thought we’d lost him, that _I _had lost him. Then he got sick, and I couldn’t stop thinking how you’d know exactly what to do. You _always _know what we need to do.” While he cleared his throat, his voice was hardly more than a whisper. “There were days I felt utterly lost without you by my side.”

“Dutch, I…” He swallowed, unsure of what to say. There was a part of him that felt remorse over what he’d done, and another that only felt pity for the young man. The two warred against each other, knowing he was partly to blame for the damage he’d caused, yet also unaccountable to Dutch’s feelings. 

They stood together in silence, still only inches apart, and it was only when Dutch lifted his chin in an attempt to brush his lips against Hosea’s that Hosea took a half-step back.

“I’m a married man, Dutch,” he said gently. “I can’t.”

Despite looking crestfallen, Dutch nodded. “I know.”

He took his face in his hands and placed a tender kiss on his forehead. 

Dutch reached up and held one of his hands. "I missed you."

"I missed you too,"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oof I'm so sorry for claiming this would be fluffier 😅
> 
> However, I'm glad that the last chapter was still enjoyable despite all the angst! You all are the best <3 Thank you so much for your kind words!


	11. They Say a Wounded Deer Leaps Highest

Since his return, Hosea had gotten used to waking up to the smell of percolating coffee. On most mornings, it even greeted him before Bessie. It was an odd shift in dynamics, although it was easy to get used to. Before he and Bessie left, he had always been the one to put the coffee percolator by the fire pit or over the stove. Yet, since coming back, Arthur was usually the first to start the day. 

Hosea soon discovered that Arthur being the first to rise in the morning wasn't the only change, and it was difficult adjusting to how scarce Arthur's presence was. While it was nice starting his morning with coffee ready to pour, the convenience was hardly worth its cost. It wasn't uncommon for Arthur to be gone all day. The teen was never back before sunset, and when he did return, he rarely talked about what he’d been up to. It worried Hosea, and it left him wondering if Arthur was actively trying to avoid them. Even so, Hosea refused to leave his place on the front porch in the evening until he knew his boy was home. He continued this even as the weather turned cold, and when the air dropped to freezing temperatures, he adapted by waiting inside by the front door. 

Yet, even as the months passed, Arthur’s demeanor remained as cold as the wintry air. Hosea tried not to push him further away by asking too many questions, but there were some nights when his exhaustion and fear got the better of him, even compelled him, to pry for the answers he was so desperate for. The nights when he did usually led to arguing, and as much as Hosea hated it, breaking the cycle felt nigh impossible. 

While Hosea didn’t feel responsible for how his absence impacted Dutch, Arthur’s situation was another story. The guilt he felt for leaving Arthur was nearly crippling, and when he would reach out in an attempt to rebuild what they once had, Arthur never failed to flinch away. 

Sorrow was nothing new to Hosea, but he never knew it could cut through his heart as deep as it did now.

It was on a late February evening when he was going through his usual routine. He was stretched out along the settee, reading in the front parlor as he waited for Arthur. However, as always, his mind was too preoccupied to take in the printed words on the pages. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Dutch appear in the entryway. Hosea looked up as the man leaned against the doorframe, his eyebrows drawn together in concern.

“Hosea,” he greeted.

“Evening, Dutch,”

“He’s going to be fine,”

He only sighed as his gaze flicked to the window by the door.

“He took Copper with him, didn’t he?”

“He did,”

“Then trust me on this,” he said as he made a spot for himself on the settee behind Hosea, “he’s going to be okay.”

Hosea drew a deep breath and allowed himself to lean back against Dutch’s chest when a gentle squeeze to his shoulder told him to do so. His heavy eyelids slipped closed as he felt Dutch’s hands massage the tight muscles in his neck and shoulders. “I know I’m starting to repeat myself, but I’m worried about him.”

“I know you are,”

“I’m afraid we’re losing him,”

“I know,”

Hosea opened his eyes and stared at the ceiling as an unexpected wave of emotions surged from his chest and crested in the back of his throat. “I...I think the damage I’ve done is irreparable.”

Dutch’s hands left his shoulders as he wrapped his arms around his chest and rested his temple against Hosea’s. “That ain’t true, and you know it.”

“I’m not sure if I know anything anymore,”

“He loves you, Hosea, trust me on that,”

Hosea squeezed his eyes shut as he swallowed back another swell of emotions.

As small as it was, Dutch could feel the hitch in his lungs against his chest. He closed his eyes and wrapped his arms more securely around Hosea as he pulled him closer. It was rare to see the older outlaw, a man who was usually Dutch’s voice of reason, to be so distraught. Hosea was naturally even-keeled despite the storms that often blew their way. More often than not, the man was Dutch’s rock, but not even Hosea was perfect, and it was times like these when Dutch was more than happy to return the favor to his closest friend. 

It was later that week when Arthur decided to spend his evening at the local tavern that was known as the New Coeln House. While it was nothing spectacular, Arthur had to admit that the beer was certainly better than what most saloons served. Although, beer was Milwaukee’s trade, that and economic disparity.

Arthur stared hard at the bottle of beer in his hand before lifting his gaze to observe the patrons. It was the usual crowd of people that filled the tavern; a few working girls, some sleazy men, and a handful of rich folks. His hand tightened around his beer. There was an itch underneath his skin that had been festering for several months. It was maddening, and he found that pickpocketing and conning served as only a temporary release. The feeling always returned a day or so later with renewed strength. Arthur wasn’t sure where it had come from, or when it had exactly cropped up, but he knew it would take a fight to free himself from the sensation. 

He scanned the crowd again, and his eyes narrowed as they landed on a man by the door who was drunker than was necessary. The stranger was rowdy, and the more alcohol he consumed, the more physical he became. Arthur looked him over. All in all, the man wasn’t as physically imposing as he thought he was, and he seemed to be alone. Surely he could take him.

He patiently bided his time as he watched the man, waiting for just the right moment to present itself and looking for an excuse for a fight. Arthur found his window of opportunity when the stranger took hold of an uninterested working girl’s arm and pulled her close. He scowled, took one last swig of his beer, and made his way over in long, quick strides.

Arthur shoved the stranger away from the woman and stood between them, silently daring the man to retaliate. As luck would have it, he did, and Arthur easily dodged the careless swing. His first swing made contact with the man’s ribs, and with it, he felt a sudden rush. Arthur grinned as the stranger stumbled backward, and he quickly ducked away from another incoming punch. He could feel his confidence grow with each successful swing. Yet, it didn’t take long for his confidence to become pride. He grew careless from the high of it, so much so that he didn’t even see the stranger’s friend approach him. 

Arthur only saw the stranger’s bloodied lips quirk upward in a smirk before he felt someone seize the back of his collar. His eyes widened, and he was hauled out of the tavern and thrown into the street. A grunt left his lips as he landed face-first into the muck, and he winced as a strong hand pulled him back onto his feet by his hair.

Fear, however, was the last thing Arthur felt. If anything, his predicament was a sweet release. 

The man in front of him was certainly taller, yet when his fist met his cheekbone, Arthur realized he had suffered from far worse before. The stranger who held him by his collar was manageable, and even if he was stronger, Arthur’s determination was a force to be reckoned with.

Another blow met his stomach, and Arthur retaliated with a knee to the man’s groin. As the stranger doubled over, he twisted out of his grip before withdrawing his revolver and swinging the weapon. The grip found its mark, hitting his temple and rendering the man unconscious. Arthur briefly took in his handiwork, looted the man, and mounted Boadicea before riding away.

By the time he returned to the house, he could feel the dull ache in his knuckles and the hot pain throbbing in his cheek. None of it was anything new to him. He’d experienced worse injuries before, and the release he felt far outweighed any pain that lingered from the fight. Although, he knew Hosea would be waiting for him just inside. It was still too cold for him to keep his post on the front porch, and so Arthur quietly led Boadicea into the barn before wrapping his scarf around his face. He didn’t need a mirror to know his cheek was cut and swollen, and the last thing he wanted was to be greeted by a dozen prying questions. 

When he reached the front door, he paused and drew a deep breath before opening it. To his right, he found Hosea where he always found him, and he had instinctively braced himself for a barrage of questions before realizing that the older outlaw was sound asleep. His soft snoring reached Arthur’s ears as he quietly closed the door behind him, and he relaxed his tense muscles.

For a moment, he simply stood there as he watched the book on his chest slowly rise and fall. Yet, the expression on his face was anything but peaceful, and Arthur felt his heart twist at the thought. 

Deep down, he knew he was trying with all his might to keep Hosea at an arm’s distance. In a way, he partly blamed Hosea for everything that had changed while he was gone. Watching him now, however, it occurred somewhere in his mind that what he was doing made him no better. It was spiteful, and in Hosea’s own way, he was trying with everything he had to make up for what he’d done. 

Arthur swallowed as his eyes lowered to the ground, feeling shame and guilt eat away at him. He discarded his scarf and jacket and hung them up before removing a blanket from the back of an armchair. The teen then gently laid the blanket over Hosea before silently making his way to his room. 

He was glad to find Copper waiting there for him, and once he’d changed out of his clothes, he gestured for the coonhound to join him on the bed for the night.

It didn’t take long for Arthur to discover how fleeting his release was, and soon he found himself picking fights more often than not. He knew it was foolish, and he’d be a fool to turn a blind eye to the dissatisfaction that lingered after the adrenaline wore off. Yet, it was addicting all the same. He now had enough tact to pick the right fights _and_ the strength to win them. It was a small thing he could control in his life, and while it was a dangerous game to play, he held on tightly to it with white knuckles. 

In the back of his mind, he knew his luck would run out soon enough. It was only a matter of time, although he would’ve never thought it would run dry as abruptly as it did.

It was a careless miscalculation due to his overconfidence. He’d thought the man was alone, failing to notice when the gentleman’s two friends had disappeared briefly to relieve themselves when he’d decided to start something. Arthur had been waiting for the man to take the bait when he’d found himself surrounded.

As he was hauled out into the alley, he realized all too late that he should’ve waited longer to know for certain the man was alone. Yet, cycling through all that he should or shouldn't have done was pointless now. Arthur was both outnumbered and outmuscled, and he cursed himself for his mistake.

The man’s two friends held his arms painfully tight, and Arthur braced himself for what was to come. He wasn’t sure how he was going to get himself out of his current situation, and as the man pursued his petty revenge with heavy blows, Arthur briefly wondered if escape was even possible. 

His head was pounding when the hands holding him in place suddenly let go. Arthur fell forward onto the cobblestone, and he dared to look up, prepared for another onslaught when he instead found that a fourth man had joined them. He winced and braced himself once again. While he could tell they were talking, the ringing in his head muffled their words. He squeezed his eyes shut, waiting for the pain to subside enough for him to make his escape.

His eyes flew wide when he felt hands on his arm again. He pulled his arm free and managed to twist onto his back before frowning up at the sight before him. The other three men had left, gone back into the bar most likely, and before him was a tall gentleman with fiery red hair and a long mustache to match. His frown deepened at the concern he noticed in his eyes and at the clothes he wore. He was a reverend by the look of it, which only confused Arthur even further.

The stranger held his hands up to show he meant no harm before offering him a hand. “Here, son, are you alright?”

Arthur gave him a skeptic once-over look before reluctantly accepting his help. There was a growing ache in his side, and he knew his attempt to stand on his own would’ve been laughable. “I’m fine.”

“You don’t seem fine,”

“And _you_ seem out of place,” he retorted as he tried his hardest not to sway.

His comment didn’t seem to faze the man who only wrapped Arthur’s arm around his shoulders as he led him to a bench in front of the tavern. The teen scowled, unable to do much else other than mutter under his breath as they both took a seat. 

“Is there anything I can get you?” The reverend asked.

“No,” Arthur huffed.

“Do you need someplace to stay for the night?”

He shook his head. While the thought of riding back to the farmhouse made his ribs ache all the more, he knew he would rather endure the pain than cause any of the gang to worry about him. Arthur had already caused enough trouble in the last few months, and he still felt guilty for his one ride back to Chicago. As beaten and bruised as he was, he refused to spend the night elsewhere while the others were left to wonder where he was.

Arthur stared at his worn boots as he felt the man look him over.

“Why’d you start that fight, son?”

He snorted. “You tryin’ to get me to confess my sins, mister?”

“No, you just seem...troubled,”

He was silent for a while before he finally shook his head. “Why’d you help me?”

The man shrugged. “I saw the whole thing, and I knew they didn’t take you outside to talk it out. Call it providence, I suppose. Our paths crossed for a reason, and perhaps God isn’t done with you yet.”

Arthur furrowed his brow but said nothing. He wasn’t sure what he believed, but if there was a god, then surely he was too broken and undesirable for a thing like providence. Life hadn’t been kind to him, and Arthur was convinced it was what he deserved. He was a nobody, and surely that was all he’d ever be.

“You take care now, reverend,” he said as he stiffly rose to his feet. “Thanks for your help.”

The gentleman nodded, although Arthur could tell the stranger wished he could do more for him. “Of course, try to stay out of trouble.”

He smiled to himself as he whistled for Boadicea. The reverend had no idea what kind of life he lived, and as Arthur mounted his horse, he wondered how different their encounter would have been if he did.

It was late by the time he returned to the farmhouse. When he stepped inside, he found Hosea awake, and the man was quick to set his book aside to stand in front of Arthur. His wide eyes looked him over, taking in the dark contusions that painted the left side of his face. The teen tensed and silently let him, although he was unable to meet his gaze. He flinched without meaning to when he saw Hosea’s hands reach upwards, yet it didn’t keep Hosea from gently cradling his face in his hands. 

It took a conscious effort for Arthur to get himself to relax, and he wasn’t sure when he’d closed his eyes so tightly. He forced them open to finally meet Hosea’s worried eyes.

“What happened?” 

He hesitated. “I got into a fight.”

“_Again?_”

He shrugged.

“Arthur, I—” he shook his head. “Why?”

Another shrug.

Hosea looked him over, suddenly feeling helpless. He gently brushed a few strands of hair out of his face as his lips formed a thin line. He wanted with every fiber of his being to end the vicious cycle that seemed impossible to break. There was a part of him that wondered when it had started, and if he could’ve prevented it from even starting if he had simply stayed. 

When he finally let go, he gestured for Arthur to follow him into the kitchen, where he instructed him to take his shirt off as he began to retrieve some herbal salves and tonics from a cupboard. 

Arthur frowned as he watched him set the glass bottles on the table. “Why?”

He scoffed to himself. “Please, I’ve had enough sore ribs in my lifetime to recognize the signs when I see them. They must be really hurting for you to be walking the way you are.”

He rolled his eyes, and begrudgingly reached for the back of his collar with a huff. Yet the movement caused a sudden stab of pain that stole the swear on his tongue, and he felt Hosea help him finish pulling the shirt over his head for him.

The violet bruising that painted his ribs caused Hosea to suck in air through his teeth, and he wasted no time gathering some salve on his fingers before applying it to Arthur’s skin. Despite the tenderness of the injury, Arthur did his best not to move away from his touch. Of course, it was no secret to Hosea how much pain he was in, and he briefly paused what he was doing to hand him a bottle of whiskey from a shelf.

“Here, take a few swigs. It’ll help with the pain.”

Arthur took it from him and hesitated after uncorking the bottle with his teeth. He studied the older outlaw as he placed the cork on the table. “Are you mad at me?”

His brown eyes flitted upwards to meet his, surprised at first before something else flickered behind them, although it was gone before Arthur could identify it. “No, Arthur, I’m not mad at you.”

He swallowed. “Then you’re disappointed, ain’t you?”

“No,” he insisted, his full attention now on Arthur rather than his bruised ribs. “I’m worried.”

The revelation had his eyebrows drawing together. “_Worried?_”

“Yes! With all this fighting, I’m afraid you’re going to get yourself killed...or worse.”

His gaze dropped to the whiskey in his hand.

“It’s as if you’re looking for trouble,” he continued, “and that worries me.”

Arthur chewed on his bottom lip before taking a swig of the liquor. 

“Something’s bothering you, Arthur, and I want to help, but I can’t if you won’t tell me what’s going on,”

He shook his head as he set the whiskey aside and felt his eyes begin to sting with hot tears against his will. His lungs hitched, and he swallowed, fighting with everything he had to keep his walls from crumbling. Yet as always, Hosea saw right through him, and the man pulling him into a gentle embrace was all it took to break through his weakened defenses. Arthur clung to him, his hands tightly gripping his shirt as he buried his head in his chest. Hosea let him cry as he rubbed his back, feeling his heart ache fiercely. 

When he’d calmed down, Arthur still didn’t have the words to explain all that had been festering underneath the surface. Instead, he simply told Hosea in detail what had happened with the two “robbers” without actually mentioning Colm and his gang. He told him about how it scared him that he’d killed the two men without thinking twice, and how his nightmares had returned. Arthur also mentioned how he feared he was becoming someone he didn’t recognize, to which Hosea reassured him that it was partly normal for his age. After all, it was only two years ago when Arthur’s life had completely changed, and he was approaching a new chapter in his life with adulthood around the corner. Change was natural, and as Hosea dried his eyes, he promised that he would be there to help guide him through it.

His words had him feeling the first peace of mind he’d felt in months. He felt the tension leave his shoulders as Hosea smiled at him before finishing up with the salve. Arthur held still as Hosea treated the bruises on his face, breathing in the herbal scent of it before Hosea wiped his hands on a towel and put the jar away.

“I’m sorry, Hosea,”

The man quirked an eyebrow as he turned to look at Arthur. “What are you sorry for?”

“For,” he gestured vaguely, “everything, I guess. Worrying you, not telling you things, all of it.”

“All is forgiven, Arthur,” Hosea replied as he returned to Arthur’s side. “I’m here for you.”

He nodded and said goodnight to him before making his way up to his room.

That night was the last Hosea had to stay up for Arthur, and he found that the boy started to gradually spend more time with them at the house. Finding bruises on Arthur also stopped being a weekly occurrence, and it removed a heavy weight from Hosea’s chest. The teen was becoming more like himself by the day. Even Annabelle had noticed the change, and as the weeks went on, she was sure to compliment Arthur on the young man he was becoming.

For the first time in a while, it nearly felt as if nothing had changed. 

It was on a crisp spring morning when Hosea joined Arthur on the front porch. The teen had a cigarette between his fingers as he leaned over the railing, his gaze resting on the gentle hills in the distance. Hosea followed his gaze, admiring the warm hues that the rising sun painted over the landscape. 

“You know,” he finally said, “it’s been a while since the two of us scammed some folks.”

Arthur snorted before taking a drag on his cigarette. “That it has.”

“Think you’re feeling up to a house robbery?”

“You really need to ask me that?” He scoffed. “Of course I am!”

He shrugged as a smile pulled at the corner of his mouth. “Just wanted to make sure. It’s a bit of a ride. I heard in town that some rich folks are living at a homestead somewhere between Lake Geneva and Genoa City.”

Arthur whistled low. “That’s close to a five-hour ride.”

“Which is why I’m asking if you’re feeling up to it. Bruised ribs can take a while to heal.”

“They’re fine,” Arthur replied, quick to dismiss any reason for him not to join Hosea. While there was still a persistent ache in his side, it was dull enough that made it hardly more than a nuisance. Yet the older outlaw looked him over regardless, and Arthur found that he couldn’t blame him for not taking him for his word.

They set out not long after their conversation. As they followed the worn dirt path, Hosea filled Arthur in on the details. The house belonged to a beer magnate and a corrupted one at that. Cutting corners was the man’s reputation, which, in Arthur’s opinion, was enough of a reason to rob him.

It wasn’t difficult to spot the house from the path. While Arthur had seen larger houses, the architecture was extravagant. Despite its moderate size, it reeked of wealth. They slowed their horses to a stop, and Arthur waited patiently as Hosea withdrew his binoculars to get a better look. When he tucked them away in his satchel, he motioned for Arthur to follow him to a cluster of trees where they left their horses.

“Alright, here’s the plan,” he said as he hitched his horse before slinging his satchel over his shoulder. “I’ll lure them outside and distract them while you sneak into the house and take what you can.”

“Sounds simple enough,” 

“Go ahead and start making your way towards the back of the house, but stay hidden and wait until their attention is on me, you understand?” 

Arthur rolled his eyes. “This ain’t my first robbery, Hosea.”

“I know it isn’t, but we have to work together as a team for this to work,”

He nodded and started to make his way through the tall grass and along the fence as Hosea walked over to the front of the house. Arthur waited by a small shed as he watched Hosea. When three men finally exited the house, he hopped over the fence and entered through the backdoor to begin quietly scouring drawers and cabinets for anything valuable. He smiled to himself as he found a few thick money clips hidden in the fireplace, and he peered through the window that looked out onto the front porch to check on Hosea. Seeing that the men were still thoroughly distracted, Arthur decided to creep up the stairs to see what else he could find.

He silently made his way over to a bedroom and peered inside to find a man sleeping. Arthur drew a deep breath, and snuck into the room, slowly and carefully making his way to an ornate wardrobe. His hands froze just inches away from the handles when the hair on the back of his neck suddenly stood on end. 

The odor that reached his nose made his stomach turn. The smell was both familiar and foul, and his eyes widened as he looked over at the body on the bed. He glanced over his shoulder at the door before daring to straighten himself, and he felt his blood run cold at the sight.

The man who he thought was sleeping, was dead, his throat slit open and his lifeless wide eyes staring at nothing.

Arthur backpedaled until his back was pressed against the wall, his mind racing as his heart pounded in his chest. He then felt his chest lock up as one thought crossed his mind. 

If the man in front of him was the magnate, then who was outside with Hosea?

Dread settled like ice in his gut. Even the mere thought of Hosea being in danger made him feel sick. He wasn’t sure what he’d do if Hosea was injured, and he refused to even consider the possibility of him dying.

Arthur hastily left the room and made his way to the front door, where he could eavesdrop on the conversation. He dared to steal a glance through the window again, this time noticing the gun belts each of them wore and the dark jackets that were nearly buttoned to the collar. His eyes narrowed as his fingers wrapped around the grip of his revolver.

His thoughts drifted to the code Dutch had taught him. He drew a deep breath before releasing it, feeling all hesitation leave him as he did. Arthur would do whatever it took to keep Hosea safe, even if that meant taking a gamble that the men outside weren’t innocent. It dawned on him then that he was willing to kill in cold blood to protect those he loved, would kill those who needed killing without a second thought.

Arthur withdrew both his knife and revolver, keeping the blade in his left hand as he eased the door open. He knew throwing his knife would be a mistake. The odds of it bouncing off one of the men was too high. Realizing he’d have to be quick, he gripped his knife tighter as he crept up to the man closest to him.

Hosea was in the middle of convincing the three gentlemen to buy his miracle tonic when he’d seen the door crack open. However, he never faltered, doing his best to keep his eyes locked with either three of the strangers. Yet even from where he stood, he could see the look that glinted in Arthur’s eyes. The teen had both his knife and revolver drawn, and Hosea was helpless to do anything about it without endangering either of them. He hadn't failed to notice the weapons holstered on the men’s gun belts earlier, and the last thing he wanted to start was a firefight at point-blank range. 

He did, however, casually bring his arms behind his back in a relaxed position. There was a revolver he’d tucked between the small of his back and the waistband of his pants, and Hosea was set on backing Arthur if the teen was to go through with his attack. As young as Arthur was, Hosea trusted his intuition.

He wasn’t surprised when he saw Arthur plunge his knife into the neck of the stranger closest to the house, nor when he shot another in the head. Although it did take him off guard when Arthur shot the last of them before Hosea could even draw his gun.

He blinked at the lifeless bodies, barely registering the way Arthur looted them without hesitation. Hosea’s mouth went dry, and when he’d finally found his words again, Arthur tore open one of the jackets to reveal a green vest. He watched as Arthur scowled at the sight before pulling open another to reveal a green neckerchief underneath. The teen hissed out a swear as he straightened himself. 

“What the hell are O’Driscolls doing this far north?”

The teen looked panicked at the revelation, and Hosea couldn’t help but eye him curiously. “Not sure.”

Arthur stared at the bodies in front of him before finally lifting his gaze to Hosea’s. “Think you can hide the bodies while I search the rest of the house?” 

He nodded, and Arthur thanked him before reentering the house.

There was a heavy silence that hung between them as they rode home. Even with their pockets full with their success, Arthur had become oddly reserved. 

The Arthur that had killed three people single-handedly was not the Arthur he’d known just barely a year ago. There had been no hesitation, and certainly no room for mercy. While their situation had called for it, Hosea couldn’t shake how unnerving it was to see Arthur slip so quickly into the role of a gunman. 

Hosea finally broke the silence when he could no longer bear the questions that plagued his mind. “How did you know they were O’Driscolls?” 

“I didn’t,”

“Then what led you to attack them?”

Arthur glanced at Hosea and his stomach turned, fearing the reason behind his questions. “I found a dead body upstairs. His throat had been slit, and I could tell he was the magnate. I didn’t want them to hurt you.”

“O’Driscolls are dumber than rocks,” he replied lightly, “you could’ve let me handle them.”

He shook his head but didn’t explain why, the memory of Gimp in a hospital bed still fresh in his mind. As much as he cared about his friend, Arthur knew without a doubt that seeing Hosea wounded and bedridden would’ve been too much for him to bear. He didn’t have to imagine what life without Hosea would be like, and he was determined to keep that from ever happening again.

“Arthur?”

His gentle voice pulled him from his troubling thoughts, although he kept his eyes focused on the path ahead. “I had the better advantage.”

It wasn’t a compelling explanation for Arthur’s actions, but Hosea didn’t push any further for answers. “How are you doing?”

“What do you mean?”

“Killing those men back there,” he explained, “I thought you had decided to avoid that sort of thing.”

Arthur tsked. “That was different.”

“How so?”

“Dutch told me the rest of our saying, how we kill folks who need killing. Back there, it was either you or them.”

Hosea was struck silent by the comment. While the teen had a point, it was unsettling how matter of fact Arthur was. He was grateful that the boy had stepped in for his sake, but it concerned him how casual Arthur was with it all. It left Hosea wondering once again if things would’ve been different if he had stayed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for your patience with this update! <3 I had a ton of meetings last week and I ended up sick again ;; but I'm better now, hence a new chapter!
> 
> Thank you again for your support and I hope each and every one of you have a lovely week <3
> 
> The title of this chapter was inspired by an Emily Dickinson poem


	12. Lost in Spring's Reverie

While Arthur had feared that the O’Driscolls had caught wind of their trail, it had been a whole year since the house robbery, and he still hadn’t seen any sign of them. He was more than relieved to find that their chance encounter had simply been that, although knowing that didn’t keep him from being hyper-aware of his surroundings. Arthur hadn’t forgotten Colm’s threat, nor how his blade felt resting against his throat all those months ago. If he knew anything about the rival gang leader, it was that the man was true to his twisted words, and Arthur only hoped that the distance between Milwaukee and Chicago was plenty enough. 

The streets of Milwaukee were busier than usual thanks to the beautiful spring weather. Arthur had rolled up his sleeves by now, and the sun's touch was more than pleasant as it warmed his skin. He leaned back against the metal bench as his eyes flicked up from the newspaper in his hands. He’d been eyeing the two boys several paces away to his left for almost fifteen minutes. They weren’t much younger than him, and there was something that didn’t sit right with the way their grins twisted their lips. The boys reeked of trouble, and Arthur scowled as he tried to catch what they were snickering about.

He soon spotted the source of their mirth when it left the general store that was farther down the way. It was a small boy, no older than eight by the looks of it. With one once-over look, Arthur found that the boy was quite ordinary, which only made his sad blue eyes stand out all the more against his soft features. Arthur scoffed under his breath. The kid’s lanky figure was surely laughable. He’d give the two other boys that much. What he couldn’t condone, however, was the way one boy had disappeared into an alley as the other waited until the kid had stepped close enough to stop him.

Arthur’s eyes narrowed as he watched the scene play out before him. Distracting the kid was easy, effortless even. His wide eyes revealed how taken he was by whatever story was being spun. Arthur set his newspaper aside and rose to his feet as he saw the other boy reappear only to rip the bag of groceries out of his hand. The two of them laughed as the kid scrambled to retrieve his goods, pleading with the two boys to give them back. While the boy was tall for his age, his outstretched arms hardly reached their chests.

Arthur felt his blood run hot as his fists clenched at his sides, reaching the three of them in just a few quick, long strides. He easily towered over the two boys, glaring down at them with his heated gaze. 

“Somethin’ funny here?” He snarled.

Their laughter stopped instantly as they exchanged a nervous glance with each other, although Arthur didn’t wait for a response before snagging the groceries out of one boy’s hand. He then gave him a forceful shove, nearly sending him onto the ground, and ordered them to leave immediately. The two of them nearly tripped over their own feet as they fled, and Arthur straightened his hat before handing the kid his things.

“Here, don’t think they’ll be bothering you no more,”

The kid hesitated before taking his bag with shaking hands, avoiding eye contact all the while. “Thanks, mister.”

“You gotta be more careful,” he added as he looked him over again. “You can’t go around trusting everyone you meet.”

He only dipped his chin once in a nod.

Arthur opened his mouth to ask if the boy was okay when the door to the general store opened abruptly. The bells hanging on the door noisily clanged together as a girl hastily stepped out onto the sidewalk just ahead of them, clearly panicked and searching for something. Her eyes scanned the street before landing on them, and she visibly breathed out a sigh of relief before running over to them. 

“Jamie! Oh, Jamie, I thought I’d lost you!” She said as she pulled the kid into a tight embrace before holding him by his shoulders. “Don’t you ever disappear like that again!”

Arthur’s words were stolen from him as he watched her. Her dark hair was neatly swept back into a braid, and somehow, it only made her eyes stand out all the more. They were bright despite the dark shade of brown that colored them, and Arthur felt his heart flutter as she smiled at the boy before meeting his eyes.

“I’m sorry, was he bothering you, mister?” She asked.

“No, I—”

“Some boys from school tried to take our things, and he helped me!” Jamie interrupted.

She looked Arthur over, clearly surprised by the revelation. “Is that true?”

“It is,”

“I don’t know how to thank you—”

“It was nothin’,”

“But it ain’t,” she insisted with a frown.

He couldn't help but laugh at her sudden fiery conviction, nor how she'd straightened her posture. The young woman's determination was admirable, and for once, Arthur couldn't bring himself to argue the point any further. 

Her frown deepened at his amusement as if she was offended before smoothing, and she found herself sharing Arthur's amusement with a coy smile. "Can I at least have your name?"

"Arthur, Arthur Morgan, and you are?"

"Mary Gillis," she replied, "and this is my brother, Jamie."

Arthur flashed her a crooked grin as he tipped his hat. “Pleasure to meet you two.”

“Likewise,” she said. 

“Why don’t I walk the two of you home?” He offered. “Make sure those boys don’t try anything else?”

“That would be very kind of you, Arthur,”

He grinned at that, and he couldn’t help but notice her charmed smile when he offered to carry the bag of groceries. 

They walked for several blocks at a leisurely pace. The pleasant spring air had an enchanting effect on their conversation, making the words they exchanged warm and sweet like blossoming trees. While Arthur didn’t fully understand the flutter in his stomach, he found himself recalling the way Bessie and Hosea sometimes talked to each other, and in the back of his mind, he wondered if he was feeling the same thing Hosea had felt all those months ago. Regardless, Arthur had never known he could feel both anxious and giddy at the same time.

Listening to the young woman talk was suddenly the only thing he wanted to do, which only made arriving at her house all the more frustrating.

“Thank you very much for walking us home,” she said as she stopped by the steps that led up to the front porch. 

“Sure, although I think I should be the one thanking you,”

Mary chuckled to herself and opened her mouth to reply when she was cut off by the front door swinging open. She jumped as the door hit the side of the house, and Arthur turned to see a man standing in the doorway. His thin hair was unkempt, and his round nose only made his eyes seem smaller than they were. They squinted at Arthur, a deep frown settling between his brows as he stared him down. The red tint coloring his cheeks and nose had Arthur tensing at first before returning his glare. He knew the look all too well, and he refused to fall victim to drunken anger again. He was eighteen now, eighteen and free from his hellish childhood.

He would not let his past repeat itself, nor allow it to leave him cowering in front of this man.

His hand curled into a fist on its own as he held the man’s heated stare, his jaw set, and feet rooted to where he stood.

The man who he could only assume was Mr. Gillis, broke eye contact to rest his gaze on Mary and Jamie. “Where the hell have you two been?”

“Mother sent us to get a few things and—”

“Who’s that?” He interrupted as he gestured sharply to Arthur.

“This is Arthur. He helped Jamie when those nasty Barlow boys started bullying him.”

The man swore under his breath as he marched himself over, and Arthur found the muscles in his arms coiling on their own. While Mr. Gillis wasn’t fully drunk, it was as clear as the sky above him that the man had no qualms with physically expressing his anger. When his focus zeroed in on Jamie, it physically pained Arthur when he saw the boy freeze. It was like reliving a memory, remembering all too vividly how terrified he used to be of his father and the nights he spent cowering in fear, and it took every fiber of his being not to intervene just yet.

“Is that so?” He barked at the boy.

Jamie hesitated before finally nodding.

“Get inside!” Mr. Gillis snapped as he took hold of the collar of his shirt before forcefully sending the boy on his way to the house. “You’re damn useless! Can’t even stand up for yourself!” 

“Daddy—” 

“You too!” He ordered as he rounded on Mary. 

She sighed and quietly thanked Arthur as she took the bag from his hand. 

The man waited until she was inside before facing Arthur again. He stood only two feet away from Arthur, using his height in an attempt to intimidate him. 

“I know your type, I can see it in your eyes,” he growled out as he jabbed a finger into his chest. “You stay the hell away from my daughter!”

Arthur drew in a deep breath through his nose as Mr. Gillis turned away from him and entered the house. The door slammed shut behind him, leaving Arthur to stare on in silent rage. He eyed the house, his stare flitting to the windows on the second floor. A smirk pulled at the corner of his mouth as he turned over an idea, casually walking further down the sidewalk as he continued to examine the quaint building. 

It wasn’t difficult to discern which window was Mary’s. She was already sitting by it and watching him. His smile widened as he saw the concern in her eyes, quickly connecting the dots as to why. Arthur looked over his shoulder at the door, and when he knew that her father had forgotten about him, he left the sidewalk to approach the side of the house.

When Arthur stopped just below her window, she opened the panes and peered down at him. “He didn’t do anything to you, did he?”

Arthur shook his head.

“I apologize for his behavior,” she sighed. “His business ain’t been going well as of late and he’s under a lot of stress.”

“It ain’t your fault,” he replied. “You gonna be okay?” 

“What do you mean?”

He shrugged. “That anger of his don’t seem too kind.”

“He’s not as bad as he seems, Arthur,” she said quietly before glancing over her shoulder. “Listen, are you going to be in town tomorrow?”

“Most likely,” 

“I usually walk Jamie to school in the morning. You think you could meet me there tomorrow?” 

Arthur smiled wide as he felt the last of his anger dissolve. “Don’t see why I couldn’t.”

She mirrored his grin. “Good, now get yourself out of here before he sees you!”

He laughed at that. Arthur had no doubt he could take the man, yet he listened anyway and began to make his way back to where he’d hitched Boadicea. 

Dutch sat at the dining table and listened intently as Hosea eagerly filled him in on the details of a potential job. The older outlaw had been watching the coming and going of a few gentlemen, one of which owned a small, yet ritzy, steamboat. While the men visited the tavern in town, their wives wandered in and out of the few boutiques. From a distance, the women had been friendly and gregarious, and it seemed to be a setup that would be easy to manage. Bessie and Annabelle would ease their way into their social circle in hopes that the four of them would be invited to an outing on the boat. There, Hosea and Dutch would distract the men while Arthur would join the women before ‘excusing’ himself before taking what he could.

Dutch was thoroughly impressed. It was a magnificent plan, and he and Hosea couldn’t help but exchange a delighted grin over the brilliance of it all. 

“This just might be better than our Portuguese shipping scam in Kettering!” 

Hosea laughed. “Considering we were _caught _in Kettering, it doesn’t take much for any plan to be better than that one!”

“This is true,” Dutch mused. 

“I’ve already talked to the women about it, but I haven’t seen Arthur enough this week to mention it to him,” 

“That boy’s been about as predictable as the weather lately,” he said with a shake of his head.

Hosea’s brow furrowed at the accuracy of his statement. Arthur had returned to his usual pattern of disappearing without a word, although he was grateful that the boy’s mood had at least been pleasant. “Might be his age.”

While Dutch nodded, both of them knew that wasn’t the case.

“You keep working out the finer details, Hosea,” Dutch said as he patted him on the back and rose from his seat. “I’m gonna see if our boy has returned yet.”

Dutch stepped out onto the front porch to find Susan, Bessie, and Annabelle chatting with one another at the folding table underneath the shade of some trees not far off. His brow furrowed as he read their postures with ease. While he couldn’t hear what they were saying, Susan had her arms folded across her chest as she skeptically eyed Annabelle. Bessie, on the other hand, was thoroughly intrigued by the conversation at hand. The differing reactions piqued Dutch’s curiosity, and he found himself walking over to them.

“I don’t believe you,” Susan huffed. “There’s no way.”

“How do you know?” Annabelle’s tone was light, her eyebrow raised as the corner of her mouth quirked upward in a grin.

“That just ain’t him. I’ve known that boy for almost four years, and not _once _have I seen him do such a thing!”

“Well, you can’t really call him a boy anymore,” Bessie mused. 

She rolled her eyes. “Regardless, he ain’t seeing a girl! He would’ve told one of us.”

“Please, getting Arthur to say anything is like pulling teeth, let alone getting him to talk about what he’s feeling,”

Dutch blinked, the news hitting him like a slap to the face. “_Arthur’s seeing a what now?_” 

Annabelle looked up at him and chuckled at the rare look of surprise on his face. “I know, it’s hard to believe the young man is capable of having a romance of his own.” She explained, her tone dripping with sarcasm.

“When did this start?” He demanded.

She shrugged. “Maybe a week ago? I saw him gathering some flowers the other day.”

“He also asked me how to make a flower crown the day before,” Bessie added.

“He can’t be romancing some girl!” Dutch exclaimed. “It’s too great of a risk!” 

All three of them shot him a look of disbelief.

Dutch muttered under his breath. “You know what I mean!” 

“He’ll be fine,” Annabelle sighed. 

“You don’t really believe that, do you?” 

“I do,”

The sound of hooves on the path saved Annabelle from the scathing retort on Dutch’s tongue, and he looked up to find Arthur approaching the house. Dutch drew a deep breath to calm himself as he watched Arthur dismount and lead his horse into the barn to tend to her. He was considering cornering Arthur about the news when he felt Annabelle slip her hand into his. His eyes flicked over to her, and she offered him a small smile as she gave his hand a gentle squeeze.

“Let him be, you ain’t in any kind of mood to ask him about it in a way you won’t regret,”

He forced himself to relax before finally nodding. “I’m gonna talk to him about the private steamboat job Hosea’s contrived.”

She released his hand, and he headed toward the barn without another word. Inside, he found Arthur smiling wide as he fed Boadicea an oatcake. The teen was nearly glowing, and now that Dutch was aware of the situation, he did not doubt that Annabelle was right. He wore all the signs of young love, and Dutch had to swallow back the words he wanted to say.

“Afternoon, Arthur,” He finally said. 

Arthur jumped, which left Dutch wondering how deep the teen had been in his thoughts. “Dutch! I didn’t see you there.”

“How was your day?”

“Great,” he said. “You should see the theater in town when you get the chance. It’s even better than the one in Chicago! It’s got real nice seating.”

Dutch narrowed his eyes. “Sounds like you had a wonderful time.”

Arthur hesitated, looking Dutch over before nodding and taking a brush out of a nearby bucket that was on the ground. 

“Anyway,” he started, “Hosea’s got a plan in the works, and we’ll need you with us to help.”

The teen continued to focus on her brown and white coat as he brushed her down. “When you thinkin’ of carrying it out?” 

“Why? Are you busy, Arthur?” He asked, mustering with all his strength to sound nonchalant. 

There was a brief pause before he shook his head. “No.” 

“Good, we ain’t sure exactly when we’ll be doing this. We just need you ready.”

“Yes, Dutch,”

He smiled at his compliance before leaving Arthur to finish up in the barn, hoping that his words would cause the teen to reconsider his affections. The thought of losing Arthur over a girl filled him with unease. While unlikely, it was all too possible. He and Hosea had taught Arthur all the skills he needed to survive, which felt like a double-edged sword to Dutch. The young man was now able to survive most situations on his own, which also meant he was more than capable of being independent. Arthur no longer needed them, and the possibility of him running off with the young woman he was seeing filled him with dread. After all, Dutch had, at one point in his life, believed with a heartfelt assurance that Hosea would never leave him, only to be proven wrong. Dutch saw Arthur like a son, and the teen was far too invaluable to lose over a love that would most likely never last. In a way, he felt responsible for keeping the teen rooted in reality. 

Dutch was a firm believer in the importance of love, and would even fight tooth and nail for it. Even so, he knew all too well the strains their way of life had on relationships. The outlaw life didn’t lend itself much to anything outside of familial love. 

The boy was only bound to get hurt, and Dutch believed that Arthur had already endured enough pain to last a lifetime. Whoever Arthur was seeing, was trouble. He could sense it, but if he warned the boy too soon, Arthur would no doubt reject his warning. Until the opportunity presented itself, he had to wait and bide his time.

Arthur watched the lily-white cottony clouds roll across the sky above him as he sat in a grassy field amidst the trees. Beside him, Mary exhaled a contented sigh before resting her head on his shoulder. He managed to smile at the touch despite his racing thoughts and pressed his lips to her soft hair. 

There was a part of him that felt guilty for allowing himself to have this. He had fallen for her instantly, and perhaps he was stupid for it, but there was no denying how wonderful it felt to romantically love and be loved by someone. To him, Mary was stunning with a sharp wit to match. She saw the good in even the worst people and seeing that reminded him of his younger self.

The part of him he thought he’d lost in the fires of his turbulent life.

Yet there was still another pull on his heart that was different from the one he felt with Mary. He hadn’t forgotten his brief conversation with Dutch in the barn, and while the outlaw hadn’t mentioned it outright, it was clear that Dutch had some inkling to Arthur’s developing relationship. From what he’d gathered from that brief encounter, the man didn’t approve, and it left Arthur feeling something akin to disloyalty for wanting to continue pursuing the young woman next to him.

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a pack of cigarettes before pulling one out and offering one to Mary. She shook her head, and there was no mistaking the way she eyed him as he brought one to his lips. 

“Really, Arthur?” 

He furrowed his brow at her. “What?” 

“Smoking is an awful habit,”

He couldn’t help but scoff. “It might be, but it sure beats your dad’s drinking.”

“Arthur!”

He laughed and tucked the cigarette back into its pack. “Fine! I’ll save it for later.”

She rolled her eyes, yet a grin pulled at the corner of her mouth regardless. “Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it,”

Mary studied him intently for a moment, and the only sound that filled the silence between them was the whispering of leaves as the wind rustled them. “There’s something on your mind, Arthur. You’ve been quiet ever since we rode out here.”

His hand fidgeted with the tall grass as he thought over his words. “Has your father talked to you about me?”

“He has, several times, but I thought you didn’t care much for what he thought,”

“I don’t, but he ain’t too far off on certain things,”

“What do you mean?”

“I ain’t as much of a law-abiding citizen as you think I am,”

She flashed him a smirk. “And just where did you get the idea that that’s what I think you are?”

He cocked an eyebrow as he looked over at her. “What?”

“Oh, Arthur, I knew the moment I met you that you were a little rough and that you don’t play by society’s rules,”

“That’s one way to put it,” he chuckled. 

“But, my daddy is wrong about one thing. You’re a good man, regardless of the choices you make.”

Her statement surprised him, and he was struck silent for a moment before he found his words again. “You hardly know me.”

“I know,” she mused as her gaze lowered to the ground, “but I can see it in your eyes.”

Arthur wasn’t sure what to say to that. Mary was far too generous to consider him a good man, either that or oblivious. Yet she was too observant to be defined as the latter, and Arthur gently took hold of her chin to meet her stare.

“Mary,” he drew a deep breath. “You ought to know that I’m an outlaw, and I live a rough life.”

She seemed to consider his words for a moment, and he waited with bated breath for her rejection. He was convinced it was coming, had feared it the day he met her after she’d dropped Jamie off at school. There was a part of him that knew it was the inevitable outcome. Women, as refined as her, didn’t marry outlaws, let alone fall in love with them. Arthur was convinced it was for reasons far shallower that she’d even stayed with him for this long.

After what seemed like an eternity, she offered him a warm smile. “You’re still gold to me, Arthur.”

He blinked, taken aback by her reply. It derailed his thoughts and made the blossoming warmth in his chest fully bloom and spread like wildfire. Arthur returned her smile and dared to lean forward to close what little distance there was between them with a kiss. He was surprised once again when she didn’t move away, their lips brushing together before he tentatively deepened it.

Arthur had just closed his eyes when he felt something warm and soft push itself between them. He opened his eyes to find Boadicea there, and he swore under his breath as Mary laughed. The horse nibbled at his ear before Arthur gently pushed her nose away. 

As Mary petted the mare’s nose, Arthur checked his pocket watch for the time and sighed. While he wanted to stay where he was with Mary, he had told Dutch he’d be back before dinner to keep the man off his back. He tucked the pocket watch away and looked up at Mary. 

“I think it’s time we head back. Your father may start to question the kind of ‘friend’ you were visitin’ if we stay out any longer.”

“It’s only been two hours,” she huffed. 

He rose to his feet and, with a smile, offered his hand to help her up. “I know, but I’ve also got to head home, and I don’t want to give any reason for your father to be angry with you.”

“I appreciate that, but I can handle myself,” she replied as she took his hand.

“Now, I don’t doubt that,” 

They both mounted Boadicea, and Arthur felt his heart flutter against his ribs as she tightly wrapped her arms around his waist. The ride back to her house felt shorter than it was, and Arthur was careful to drop her off about half a block away so they wouldn’t be seen together. 

As much as he hated not facing the man, he knew better than to leave Mary and Jamie to deal with his drunken anger. He refused to cause any such trouble as he knew from personal experience what that was like. He was grateful, however, to find that Mr. Gillis didn’t seem as physically abusive as his father had been. Arthur had looked for the signs whenever he was with Mary or Jamie, discreetly looking them over for any bruises or cuts only to continually find none. 

He returned to the old farmhouse to find Dutch and Hosea sitting on the front porch. Arthur tensed before forcing himself to relax, knowing they’d instantly notice the change in his posture. After getting Boadicea settled in her usual stall, he drew a deep breath and made his way over to the front of the house.

“Arthur!” Dutch called. “You’ve got perfect timing, son. Hosea was just about to fill me in on the latest developments of his plan.”

As brief as it was, the look Hosea gave him didn’t go unnoticed by Arthur.

“Why don’t you bring yourself over here,” Dutch added.

Arthur did as he was told and leaned against the railing. “You figure out the rest of your steamboat plan?”

“Well, yes and no,” Hosea replied. “The women have managed to get a friendship going with the gentlemen's wives. All we have to do now is wait for the invitation.”

“This man’s a genius,” Dutch said with a grin as he stood. “I’ll leave you two to talk the rest of it over.”

Arthur furrowed his brow as Dutch entered the house before his gaze shifted to Hosea. “What’s there to talk over, Hosea?”

He patted the seat next to him, and when Arthur stayed where he was, he sighed and leaned back against the bench. “Nothing, really. We can’t discuss too many details since we don’t know what the inside of the boat looks like, and I can’t tell you anything you don’t already know about robbing folks.”

“Then what was that all that about?” 

Hosea was silent for a moment as he considered his words. “I’m not gonna lie to you, Arthur. He wanted me to ask you about the young lady you’re seeing.”

He stiffened as he folded his arms across his chest. “What about her?”

“That’s between you and Dutch. In my opinion, you’re an adult, and who you choose to love is up to you. What I want to know, however, is can you trust her?”

Arthur looked away as a deep frown formed between his brows before meeting Hosea’s stare again. “Yes.”

His answer seemed to satisfy him as he nodded to himself and withdrew a cigarette from his pocket.

“How’d he know?”

“Pardon?”

“How did Dutch know I was seeing someone?” He huffed as he finally sat down beside him.

“Annabelle was the one who figured it out,”

“_What?_”

Hosea laughed at his reaction. “She suspected something was up about a week ago.”

Arthur scowled at the revelation, and as he recalled the last two weeks, it made sense to him why Bessie and Annabelle were bringing up various topics. The two of them had been incredibly subtle about the advice they were giving him, mentioning the things that Dutch and Hosea did for them that made them feel special and loved. 

Arthur groaned as he held his head in his hands, realizing how much of a fool he’d been for thinking he could keep Mary a secret for a while. He heard Hosea chuckle to himself and felt the man rub his back.

“It’s alright, Arthur, we’re happy for you,” he said. “What’s her name?”

“Mary,” he mumbled from behind his hands.

“What’s she like?” 

Arthur lifted his head from his hands to see that Hosea had offered him his cigarette. He gladly took it before describing her to him, from her sense of humor and confidence to her natural beauty. 

“Her eyes, they pull me in every time, and it’s nearly maddening how mesmerizing they are,” he said. 

“I felt the same way about Bessie. The instant our eyes met, I knew there was no escape.”

Arthur grinned and looked up at him. “S’funny you mention that. When we had our first conversation, I couldn’t help but think of you two.”

Hosea smiled from ear to ear at that. “Being in love is a curious thing.”

He nodded as he took one last drag on the cigarette before flicking it to the side. “Her father is nothin’ but trouble, though.”

“That’s a real shame,” 

“Reminds me of my own sometimes,” he mused grimly. 

Hosea tensed at that as he eyed him. “Steer clear of him, Arthur. Dealing with a man like that is the last thing you need.”

“I know. He don’t like me anyway.”

“Trust me, it’s probably better that way,” he said. “How’d you meet her?”

“I was in town when I helped out her brother,”

“Did you now? She must be smitten with you.” 

Arthur’s eye roll was difficult to miss, and Hosea only laughed as he ruffled his hair.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know what meeting Mary means?
> 
> There's a John on the horizon :3c 
> 
> Thank you again for all the delightful comments!! They really make my day <3


	13. Fool for Love

Arthur never enjoyed it when the gang’s plans involved playing dress-up, let alone dressing fancy. The opulent vest he wore fit snuggly (although Hosea insisted that it fit him just fine), and the tie around his neck felt more like a noose. As they waited for the gentlemen and their wives to show up at the docks, he slipped a finger between the fabric and the collar of his shirt, and pulled, hoping the necktie would give, and afford him some breathing room. 

His search for even the slightest bit of wiggle room earned him a light slap to the wrist from Hosea. Arthur scowled at him as the man adjusted his tie for him and straightened it. While they were all dressed to the nines, Hosea easily outdressed them all, and he only flashed him a knowing smile before patting his shoulder.

“Don’t forget you’re supposed to look like this is nothing new to you,”

“Feels like there’s a noose around my neck,” Arthur muttered.

“You’ll be fine. You’ll hardly notice the thing in another hour or so.”

He had his doubts about that one, although he didn’t have the chance to voice them before Dutch quietly announced that their new friends were approaching. Arthur drew a deep breath and wrinkled his nose at the musty smell of the lake. A little way down the pier, he spotted the three well-dressed men walking over to them, although it wasn't difficult to pick them out from the small crowd of fishermen. Two of the gentlemen had a woman on his arm, leaving Arthur to assume that they were the wives Bessie and Annabelle had gotten to know. 

The five strangers reeked of wealth, more so than the pier reeked of rotting fish and other things that Arthur didn’t want to think about. The excessive adornments and layers of clothing even made Hosea seem underdressed for the occasion. Arthur shifted his weight uneasily at the sight. They had dealt with rich folk before. What made him nervous was the thought of being trapped on a boat for over an hour with them. The habit of always having an escape route had been beaten into him years ago by his father, and the thought of going against that one precept made him tense. Swimming back to shore was the only means of escape available where they were going, and it had Arthur’s mouth going dry at the thought as he stared at the placid surface of the lake.

A hand on his shoulder pulled him out of his thoughts, and he looked up to find Hosea watching him closely, his eyes filled with concern. “Are you alright, Arthur?”

“I’m fine,”

His eyes narrowed a hair at that, unconvinced. “You know you don’t have to do this, right?”

“I said, I’m fine!” He practically hissed. “I ain’t gonna back out now.”

Hosea would have countered his comment, would’ve tried to defuse his defensiveness, but it was too risky with the strangers now in earshot of their conversation. Instead, he gave Arthur’s shoulder a gentle squeeze before wrapping his arm around Bessie’s and sidling up to Dutch’ side. 

As they talked, Arthur eyed the boats along the pier. This would be his first time on a boat, and to say he was nervous was an understatement. It wasn’t until they'd arrived at the docks that the feeling had tied his stomach into knots. When he and Hosea had discussed details, Arthur hadn’t thought twice about it, yet it was all he could think about now as he followed Hosea and Dutch as they were led to the rich folks’ steamboat. Smoke was already curling and clouding the air above the smokestacks, and Arthur could make out the silhouettes of a few men in the pilothouse. 

“Here she is,” one of the men said, his mustache curling with his smile. “My only pride and joy!”

“She’s a fine vessel, Clarence,” Dutch mused. 

“I’ll have to tell you the story of how we survived a storm out on these waters,” he replied as they boarded. “Charlotte, do you mind taking these two fine ladies and Mr. Kilgore's brother to the hurricane deck? The men and I are going to help ourselves to a few games of poker in the saloon.”

A woman, who looked no older than thirty nodded, her curls bobbing with the motion before she motioned for Bessie, Annabelle, and Arthur to follow her. She led them to the upper deck, where there were a few benches. As the ladies sat down and started an idle conversation, Arthur felt a shift in the boat, and he quickly reached out for the railing to brace himself as they started to move. The other woman saw this, and she lifted a hand to her mouth in an attempt to stifle her laugh.

“Is this your first time on a boat?” She asked. 

Arthur had to physically restrain himself from scowling at the woman. Instead, he forced his best smile at her as he released his tight grip on the railing. “Yes, ma’am.”

“How exciting!” She replied. “I’m so glad you could join us!”

Arthur could see through her thin facade that she was lying, but he said nothing and simply turned to look out onto the water as the women resumed their conversation. While he felt trapped, he had to admit that the view from the uppermost deck was breathtaking. The few clouds above them were stark white compared to the deep blue sky. The sight only made the blue water stand out all the more, and the sun glittering on the waves was mesmerizing.

He listened to their conversation for a while as they talked about nothing before eventually tuning out their chatter. Arthur wasn’t sure how Annabelle and Bessie could put up with such trivial nonsense, or even pretend to enjoy it for that matter. Their conversation seemed to focus on the latest gossip and entertainment. Arthur rarely heard such petty things from them at home, and the thought, oddly enough, made him smile. The two women had their own swindling skills, skills that might’ve even surpassed Dutch’s. 

He was eventually pulled away from his thoughts when he heard Bessie call his name. Arthur turned to see her gesture for him to come over and he reluctantly rejoined them. 

“How old are you?” Charlotte asked as she looked him over.

“Eighteen,”

“My word, you hardly look fifteen!” She exclaimed. “Why don’t you join the other men? The saloon is on the deck below us. It’s the first door, by the stairs, you can’t miss it. I’m sure they’d love the extra competition.”

Arthur thanked her and left them. The woman had unknowingly handed him his opportunity on a silver platter, and he smiled at the thought as he made his way down the stairs. However, he walked past the first door and paused by the third. Hosea had mentioned that most steamboats held cabins, and when Arthur heard nothing on the other side of the door, he tried the handle and was pleased to find that the room was both unlocked and empty.

In the saloon next door, Hosea watched Dutch tell some outlandish story as he leaned back in his chair. It had been a while since the two of them had pulled a scam like this, and Hosea had nearly forgotten how entertaining it could be to watch Dutch work. The younger outlaw knew how to sweep just about anyone off their feet. No one was immune, not even the three gentlemen they’d temporarily befriended.

“The poor drunkard thought his horse was his wife! So I asked him, ‘Sir, don’t you know that’s your horse you're kissing?’ And do you know what said to me? He threatened to shoot me for insulting his wife!” Dutch had a wide grin on his face as he finished his story, which had the three men nearly doubling over with laughter.

“Mr. Kilgore, you have the most humorous stories I’ve ever heard in my life!” Clarence declared between fits of laughter.

Hosea had to stop himself from rolling his eyes. The man's life was utterly droll if that was the case.

“Thank you, Mr. Davis, I’m glad you find them as entertaining as you do. You see, my friend over here has heard most of them already, and humorous is the  _ last  _ word he’d use to describe them.”

Hosea looked up from his cards as the surname fell on his ears, and he found that he couldn’t ignore his sudden curiosity. “Davis? My wife’s brother was friends with a Davis in college who’s now a meat industry magnate.”

“Oh yes, that’s my brother,” he replied as his smile fell, “or was, anyway. His dirty business got himself killed almost two years ago.”

Hosea felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. “Killed?”

“Yes, it happened just before October. Although I wasn’t surprised when I heard the news. I had tried warning him about hiring rotten criminals to do what he was too afraid to do himself.”

Dutch and Hosea exchanged a brief look, knowing without a doubt who had killed Clarence’s brother.

Hosea cleared his throat before he spoke. “I’m sorry for your loss.”

The gentleman scoffed. “I’m not! My brother had it coming. Now, about that fellow with the horse, what happened next?”

Dutch easily picked up from where he’d left off without missing a beat while Hosea processed the news. Colm was a filthy rotter and, in his opinion, the very definition of a reprobate, but he wasn’t volatile. The man was cunning and methodic with his plans, which left Hosea wondering what had caused him to murder the magnate that had been paying him handsomely. 

After a while, there was a knock that sounded on the door. When Clarence gave permission to enter, it was Arthur who stepped into the room before approaching the round table where they sat. 

“Mrs. Charlotte told me I could ask to join you all,” he said.

While the gentleman smiled and told Arthur to pull up a chair, both Hosea and Dutch knew the unspoken signal. The young man had finished his task, and Hosea couldn’t help the small smirk that pulled at the corner of his mouth. Although unnoticeable to the gentlemen, Arthur’s shirt was more filled out than usual. He was thoroughly impressed with his boy's work, and he made a mental note to compliment Arthur on it later. 

Yet, watching Arthur easily slip into the game and his role had Hosea reconsidering his word choice. Arthur was anything but a boy now. The young man readily matched the tone of the conversation and even joined in with some light banter. He and Dutch had taught him well, maybe even too well. The thought left Hosea reflecting once again on how much Arthur had changed while he was gone.

It was an hour later when they’d returned to the dock. By then, Arthur had won several rounds of poker, earning himself nearly fifty dollars. When they stepped onto the pier, Dutch thanked them for their hospitality before parting ways.

As Dutch, Annabelle, and Bessie mounted their horses, Hosea placed a hand on Arthur’s shoulder to keep him from doing the same. The young man furrowed his brow in confusion as he released the horn of his saddle.

“You did well, Arthur,” Hosea said with a smile as he opened his saddlebag. “Let's see what you managed to find on that boat.”

Arthur grinned as he removed his jacket (which Hosea held for him) before unbuttoning his vest and the first few buttons of his shirt. He pulled out money clips first, some thicker than others, before removing the jewelry and other valuable items, and placing them in the saddlebag. Dutch laughed at the sight, thoroughly impressed by Arthur’s seemingly endless plunder.

When all had finally been emptied from his shirt and pockets, Hosea helped him button his shirt and vest once more. Yet, when he readjusted the tie around his neck, Arthur frowned at him.

“Ain’t we done with lookin’ fancy?” He muttered.

“ _ We _ might, but  _ you _ aren’t,”

“What do you mean?” 

Hosea shrugged as he handed Arthur his jacket. “I thought you might want to see Mary while you’re all dressed up. Some ladies love a man in a suit.”

Arthur’s face flushed as he shrugged on his jacket, and Hosea was grateful that he couldn’t see the scowl on Dutch’s face behind him. 

“Take her to a play or something and enjoy yourself,” Hosea said.

He thanked him as he mounted his horse, his face still flushed as he urged the mare to a canter down the cobblestone street. 

“Why are you encouraging him?”

Hosea shrugged and looked up to meet Dutch’s heated gaze, his eyebrows drawn together, and eyes narrowed. “Why not?”

“We don’t even know if we can trust her!”

“You make an excellent point,” he mused as a smile pulled at the corner of his mouth. “We’ll invite her over, then.”

The suggestion left Dutch sputtering. “ _ Invite her over? _ Are you out of your damn mind?” 

Hosea folded his arms across his chest, refusing to back down. “What’s the worst that could happen?” 

For once, he didn’t have a reply. Instead, he merely glared down at Hosea for another moment before turning his horse to lead the way back home.

Although, Dutch’s bristly demeanor didn’t last long, and he was reading outside on the porch when Hosea stepped through the front door to join him. They had both changed into something more comfortable after their return. As much as they played the part and knew all the things to say, neither of them enjoyed staying in a suit for too long. 

Hosea wordlessly sat down beside him, watching the treeline sway with the afternoon breeze. 

“Have you changed your mind about your invitation yet?” Dutch asked after a while.

He snorted. “No, have you decided to give Mary a chance?”

“No,”

“Then I’d say we’ve reached an impasse,” he chuckled. 

“I ain’t surprised,” he replied with a small grin.

“Anyway, I didn’t come out here to talk about Arthur’s new girlfriend,”

Dutch snapped his book shut. “She’s not his girlfriend! They’ve barely been seeing each other for three weeks!”

Hosea smirked at his reaction before continuing. “I came out here to ask you what you thought about the news we heard on that steamboat.”

Dutch’s expression softened as he studied him, forgetting his annoyance over Arthur's developing romance. “What do you make of it?” 

He shrugged. “Dunno, but it seems out of character for Colm to kill a man that was paying him well.”

“I was thinkin’ the same thing, that ain’t like Colm,”

“You’ve known him longer, why do you think he did it?”

Dutch held his chin in thought, his thumb and forefinger absentmindedly stroking his stubble. “I’d bet money Mr. Davis said something that he didn’t agree with. Either that or the magnate challenged him.”

“You didn’t have any encounters with Colm while I was gone, did you?” 

“No, we’ve been keeping to ourselves. That’s why we left Chicago. The city was  _ crawling  _ with O’Driscolls.”

“Good,” Hosea said. “I can’t stand that bastard.”

"Don't worry, Hosea," Dutch said as he squeezed his hand. "If he does show his face around these parts, we'll be able to handle it."

"Even so, let's hope he doesn't,"

As Arthur paced just beneath Mary’s window for the fifteenth time, he was thankful that the wall he walked along was simply a wall and that there were no windows to reveal his presence to her father. He blamed his attire for his nerves, unsure of what Mary would think of it. While Arthur didn’t feel like himself, he did find some comfort in the fact that Hosea was confident that Mary would fancy the sight of him in a suit. 

“What are you doing?” 

Arthur jumped as he lifted his eyes to the window above him to find Mary smiling down at him. He offered her a coy smile, realizing he'd been found out. “Oh, well, I just so happened to be passin’ by.”

“Yes,” she grinned as she rested her chin in her hand, “so I noticed. Have you made up your mind?”

“What?” He asked as he wrinkled his nose.

“I said, have you made up your mind?”

“About what?” 

She rolled her eyes. “Oh, Arthur, don’t play dumb! It’s beneath you!” 

He chuckled to himself. “Fine! How’d you like to go to the theater with me?”

“I never thought you’d ask,” Mary replied sarcastically. “I’ll be down in a few minutes.”

Arthur adjusted his tie as he waited. It suddenly felt tighter than before, and he swallowed as he leaned against the house. 

As promised, it only took Mary a few minutes to get ready, and as she walked down the sidewalk, she met Arthur’s eyes, and subtly nodded for him to follow. Arthur glanced at the front of the house before following, reaching her side in only a few strides. He felt her look him over as they walked, and when her gaze shifted to the busy street, he stole a lingering glance at the dress she wore. She had changed into a more elegant evening dress, her hair mostly swept back into a low bun. Her beauty took his breath away, and he stole another look that lasted longer than he’d intended. When Mary caught him staring, he offered her an apologetic smile. 

“Sorry, you look lovely,”

She smiled and tried to hide her blushing by tucking her hair behind her ear. “Thank you, Arthur, and you look quite handsome. What’s the occasion?” 

He shrugged. “Just felt like it, is all.” 

“Please, I know you better than to believe that,”

“Alright, I may have spent this morning robbin’ some unsuspecting folks on their private steamboat,”

“You didn’t!” 

He smirked. “I did.”

“I don’t believe you,”

Arthur laughed as he pulled from his pocket the seventy-five dollars Hosea had let him keep. “How about now?” 

She stared at the amount in disbelief before her wide eyes met his. “I didn't think you were lying, but you really are an outlaw.”

“I am, but at least I ain’t wanted yet,”

Mary’s lips curved into a smile as she wrapped an arm around his. “At least not by the law.” 

His heart fluttered at her quip as he returned the money to his pocket.

The theater, they found, had a traveling group that was performing for the night. Their acts reminded Arthur of a circus. He had snuck into one once when he was eight years old, had slipped out to see it when his father had once again passed out from all the alcohol he’d drank. It was an experience he would never forget. Peering through the benches unnoticed had left him feeling as if he didn’t exist, as if he was a mere specter looking on. It had been such a distinct and freeing feeling that even after ten years, was still as vivid as the day it'd come over him. 

He smiled to himself as he reflected on how much his life had changed, and how feeling like a ghost was no longer something he desired. For the first time in his life, Arthur felt like somebody. He was useful to the gang, and he’d even found love.

Mary’s laughter pulled him from his musings. Arthur thought it was a wonderful sound, and on a whim, he feigned a stretch while slowly easing his arm around her. To his surprise, she didn’t chastise him. Instead, she let her head rest against his shoulder, and Arthur found himself relaxing at the gentle touch.

The show ended too soon in Arthur’s opinion, and they continued to sit together until most of the other people had left. Arthur ignored the few looks they received, and eventually, they exited the theater and began to walk down the sidewalk. The sun had already begun its descent, and what light remained cast a warm glow on the city. It was a lovely night, and when Mary allowed him to hold her hand, he felt the warmth in his heart grow. 

Yet, the tender moment couldn’t last the night, and they stopped walking when Mary’s house was a half-block away.

“Thank you, Arthur, for the delightful evening,” she said. 

“It was my pleasure,” he smiled. 

Mary studied him, her brows pulled together in thought. “How did a man as sweet as you ever decide to be an outlaw?” 

He chuckled as his gaze lowered to his boots. “I didn’t have many other options.”

Her eyes softened as she lifted a hand to hold the side of his face. “Surely, that ain’t true.”

“I was an orphan on the streets when two outlaws took me in. They saved me, and I owe them everything.”

“This is  _ your _ life, Arthur. Only you can decide what you want to do with it.”

Arthur took her hand in his and pressed his lips to the back of it. “I wish that were true.”

“But it is,” she insisted, her eyes revealing her heartfelt conviction.

He only shook his head before capturing her lips in a soft kiss. They stood there, savoring the warm touch of the other in the receding daylight for a moment. When they reluctantly parted, he bade her goodnight with a kiss to her cheek and watched her walk to her house until he knew she was safe inside.

Arthur returned to the farmhouse to find the window by the door lit by the lamplight inside. As he tended to Boadicea in the barn, there was a part of him that hoped it was Hosea who was waiting for him. Dutch was still uneasy about him seeing someone, yet the man refused to discuss it with him. It left Arthur unsure of what to do. While he was grateful for Hosea’s approval, he wanted Dutch’s as well, and deep down, he feared he’d never have it. 

He exhaled a sigh of relief when he stepped inside the house and found Hosea reading on the settee. The man looked up from his book when he entered and smiled at him. 

“Did you have a nice day out?” He asked.

“It was wonderful,” he replied. “You were right about the suit.”

“Of course I was!” Hosea scoffed. “And to think you doubted me.”

Arthur laughed at the feigned hurt expression on his face. “I know, you know everything, old man.”

“Old man? You turn eighteen, go off dating a young lady behind my back, and now you have the audacity to call me an old man?” He quipped with a raised eyebrow.

He shrugged. “If the shoe fits.”

Hosea threw his book at him then, and Arthur couldn’t help but chuckle as he caught it. It wasn’t long after that when Copper came careening down the stairs to greet Arthur. Their conversation had awakened him, and the coonhound scrambled for purchase on the wood floor as he rounded the corner and nearly ran into Arthur. 

“He hardly left me alone all day,” Hosea said. “I don’t know where you found a dog like him.”

“Hell if I know,” he replied as he tossed the book back to Hosea so he could give his full attention to Copper. “Dutch was the one who found him.”

“That doesn’t surprise me in the least,” he mused. “You know, Arthur, you can invite Mary over if you want.”

Arthur’s eyes snapped up to meet Hosea’s from where he sat on the floor, expecting to find the mirth that had been there just seconds ago only to discover that he was serious. His brow furrowed in confusion as Copper licked at his chin. “You serious?” 

“I am,”

“What about Dutch?”

“He’ll be fine with it. Honestly, I think at this point, he’s both outnumbered and outvoted.”

"I dunno Hosea,"

"Annabelle and I will keep Dutch in check, so don't worry about him,"

Arthur continued to scratch Copper behind the ear in thought. The coonhound had settled down by now, half lying in Arthur's lap and half on the floor. Arthur wasn't sure why Hosea was willing to go through so much trouble just to meet Mary, but he was grateful for it nonetheless. 

"You just tell me when you plan on bringing her over, and I'll break the news to Dutch the day of," Hosea said as he rose to his feet and stretched. "Speaking of news, Dutch and I were told by that gentleman on the boat that Mr. Davis was killed. I thought you'd want to be in the know."

Arthur looked up at him. "By who?"

"We think it was Colm, but we don't know for sure,"

He felt the blood drain from his face as he recalled his last encounter with Davis. Arthur had been at the saloon in Chicago when Annabelle had said his name, and at the mention of it, the gentleman's demeanor had changed instantly. Mr. Davis had wanted him dead, and the thought made his mind spin with questions. His thoughts left his stomach turning, yet he did his best to ignore the feeling and swallowed before he spoke.

"Thanks for telling me,"

Hosea nodded. "Are you going to be alright?"

His blood turned to ice at the question, fearing that Hosea knew more than he let on. "What do you mean?"

He shrugged. "I'm just asking, you've been through a lot in the last few years."

"I'm fine, Hosea, really,"

Hosea didn't seem convinced, but Arthur was relieved when he didn't pry any further. "Goodnight, Arthur, see you in the morning."

Arthur watched Hosea enter the bedroom down the hall before drawing a steadying breath through his nose. He fought against the fear that threatened to take over him, reasoning that if Colm was still after him, then he would’ve been found a while ago. 

Copper whined and rolled onto his back, his legs splayed out due to the awkward position in Arthur’s lap. The comical sight made Arthur forget his worries as he rubbed the dog’s belly. With one last pat, he helped Copper off his lap before heading up the stairs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not 100% content with this chapter, but I hope you enjoy it anyway ;; It's been a long week, and to add anything else to this chapter would make it WAY too long 🤣
> 
> Thank you again for stopping by and sticking around!!! I am so grateful for your support!


	14. The Line That Runs Between Us Could Be the Thread That Pulls Us Through

Arthur took a long drag on his cigarette as he sat on his usual bench by the general store Mary frequented. He folded his arms across his chest as he took the cigarette between his fingers and breathed out a smoky sigh. They had started to meet by the store more often than not now. It had been Mary's idea as her dad was becoming suspicious of her outings and had been pushing her for more details about the stories she was using. She had become insistent that Arthur couldn’t walk her home anymore, fearing what her father might do to him if he found out about their relationship, and there was no convincing her otherwise. 

He scoffed to himself as he dropped the cigarette and stubbed it under the sole of his boot. The man didn’t scare him. Arthur knew the man was all talk anyway, and now that he knew how to hold his own, angry drunkards were no longer something for him to fear.

Mary eventually arrived at the bench outside the general store, and Arthur smiled up at her as he rose to his feet. He wasn’t surprised to find her nicely dressed, and he couldn’t help but chuckle to himself. 

Her eyebrows drew together at his amusement. “What’s so funny?” 

“We ain’t fancy folk. You didn’t have to dress up so nice.” 

“Should I go back and change?” She asked.

“Naw, you look just fine,” he replied as he gave her hand a reassuring squeeze. “More than fine, even.”

She smiled at that before he helped her onto Boadicea. Once he was in the saddle, Arthur felt her arms wrapped around his waist like clockwork as he urged the mare to a canter. 

“Is there anything I should know about this gang of yours before meeting them?” Mary asked.

He shrugged. “Dutch and Hosea, the two men you’ll meet, are the ones who took me in as their own when I was fourteen. Susan was there too when I came along. Bessie is married to Hosea, and Annabelle is with Dutch.”

“How long have they known about us?” 

“Well, Annabelle sorta figured it out about a week after we met,”

Mary laughed at that. “I take it that it was her idea to invite me over?”

“It was Hosea’s, actually,”

“Really?”

“Sure was,”

While Arthur couldn’t see her expression, he could tell by her silence that she was surprised.

The city’s buildings gave way to lush fields and trees as they rode, and Arthur could feel his heart racing faster as they neared the farmhouse. He wasn’t sure what Mary would think of their group, nor what his found family would think of her. Arthur couldn’t count the number of possible ways this could end, and most of the scenarios he imagined did not end well. They either ended with someone (usually himself) being embarrassed, or someone becoming offended in some way. 

Arthur swallowed, trying to ignore his nerves as he dismounted and helped Mary down by her waist. She thanked him as she smoothed her skirt, and as he hitched Boadicea to the railing, Hosea opened the front door. His grin stretched from ear to ear as he made his way down the steps over to Mary. 

“You must be the fine young lady this lad has been talking about,” he said before offering a courteous bow. “Hosea Matthews.”

“Mary Gillis,” she replied as she curtseyed. “Arthur’s talked a lot about you.”

Arthur had thought Hosea’s smile couldn’t get any wider. Yet he was proven wrong as his face lit up at her words. “The same can be said for you.”

While the exchange had Arthur fighting back a groan, he was relieved by the way Hosea had warmly welcomed her. Bessie soon followed suit, and Arthur noticed how her friendly and accepting demeanor helped Mary relax. He watched as the three of them carried on a light conversation about the house, and he found himself eternally grateful for their kindness towards Mary. 

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Annabelle step out onto the porch. Her expression quickly matched the others’ as she leaned against the railing, and she introduced herself before joining their chatter.

The whole situation was going better than Arthur expected. Mary’s personality seemed to fit seamlessly with the others’, and for a fleeting moment, it had Arthur wondering what life would be like with her in the gang. 

It was then that he remembered about Dutch, and the convincing he would need. He’d be lucky if the man even tolerated Mary, and the thought sent his heart straight to the pit of his stomach. It was no secret that Dutch was a stubborn man, and once he was set on an idea or belief, it was nigh impossible to convince him otherwise.

When Annabelle invited Mary inside, Arthur felt his chest tighten as his heart leaped into his throat. He didn’t consider himself religious by any degree, but as he followed them inside, he found himself praying that the rest of the afternoon would go smoothly. 

Susan was down the hall in the kitchen, and she looked up from what she was doing when she heard the door close. Arthur could tell that the smile she offered was forced, but he was thankful that she was at least trying. 

“Arthur mentioned you might have to go home before suppertime, so the four of us decided to put together a late lunch of sorts. It’ll be ready in a few minutes.” Susan said.

“In the meantime, let’s make ourselves comfortable in the dining room,” Hosea suggested.

Arthur and Mary sat beside each other while the others took their usual places. Yet they hadn’t been sitting around for long when Dutch finally decided to come down the stairs. Arthur’s eyes lowered briefly to the wood grain of the table before he found the courage to read the outlaw’s expression. Dutch, however, was wearing what he wanted them to see: a smiling and easy-going facade. Arthur had seen the look countless times when conning folks, and he couldn’t help the ache he felt in his heart when he realized it was all a guise.

Of course Dutch wasn't truly happy with Mary's company. Arthur hadn’t expected him to be, and at the same time, he couldn’t fault Dutch for only pretending.

Dutch dipped his head as he cordially greeted her before taking a seat at the table next to Annabelle. He asked her how she was and expressed his incredulity that she fancied Arthur, to which Annabelle elbowed him in the ribs for the remark.

“Arthur’s a good man, Mr. Van der Linde,” Mary said as she offered him a polite smile.

“Is that so?” He asked. “Even after bringing you into a den of thieves?”

“I’ve been in worse company,”

The corner of his mouth quirked upwards into a genuine grin. “Where are you from?”

“South Carolina,” she replied, “my family moved north after Sherman burned down the city of Colombia.”

Dutch narrowed his eyes. “My daddy died in a Pennsylvanian field fighting you lot.”

Mary tensed at that as Hosea shot Dutch a look. 

“May I have a word with you in private, Dutch?” he asked.

It was an order phrased in the form of a question, and after seeing the look in the older outlaw’s eye, Dutch knew better than to refuse to follow him as Hosea headed for the backdoor. 

As Dutch shut the door behind him, he looked Hosea over to find that his posture was rigid with his arms folded across his chest. His dark eyes were fiery, yet Dutch refused to back down just yet.

“What the hell is your problem?” Hosea demanded.

“I don't know what you’re talking about,” he huffed.

“She couldn't have been no older than two at the time, Dutch!”

“So?”

“So quit antagonizing the girl and let Arthur have something nice for once,”

“Something _nice?_” He scoffed. “What he has with _us _is _nice!_ That girl is nothing but trouble.”

“You haven’t even given her a chance!” 

“The boy doesn’t need any distractions—”

Hosea took a step forward into his space. “He isn’t a boy anymore!”

Dutch opened his mouth to reply with a scathing remark when the backdoor opened. It was Annabelle, her brow furrowed in concern as she eyed them both. She then gave Hosea’s shoulder a gentle squeeze, wordlessly conveying that she would handle the conversation from there. 

Hosea forced himself to relax before reentering the house. Annabelle watched him go before her gaze shifted to Dutch whose back was now to her. The man was fuming, his jaw clenched and lips pressed into a thin line. She exhaled a small sigh as she took his shoulders in her hands and began to massage the tight muscles. 

“Hosea has no idea what he’s talking about,” he muttered.

She smiled to herself as she couldn’t help but notice that Dutch sounded more like a petulant child than a frustrated adult. “No?”

“No,”

Annabelle hummed in thought as she continued to press her fingers into the tense muscles in his neck. “Why don’t you trust Arthur?”

“I do!” He snapped. “It’s the girl I don’t trust.”

“The girl has a name,”

“I know she does,”

“She’s nice,”

Dutch muttered under his breath.

“They’re real sweet on each other,”

“That’s what scares me,”

Annabelle turned him so she could search his eyes. “Why does that scare you?”

He frowned. “Don’t you remember what it was like when you were first in love? Don’t you regret the mistakes you made because of it?”

She shrugged. “Occasionally, but learning from those mistakes was what led me to finding you.”

“Bullshit,”

“It’s true,”

Dutch shook his head. “Maybe there are some mistakes that Arthur doesn’t have to make.”

She took his face in her hands. “Dutch, Arthur’s searching for your approval, surely you can see that.”

He sighed as his gaze lowered to the wooden porch. “I know.”

“So give her a chance, that’s all he’s looking for,”

Dutch reluctantly nodded, and Annabelle pressed her lips to his cheek before leading him back inside by the hand. There was a thick silence that settled when they reentered the room, and Annabelle gently nudged Dutch to get him to apologize. While his apology was forced and stiff, Mary cordially accepted it regardless.

Arthur, however, was convinced that Mary was only being polite. As Hosea gracefully picked up where their conversation had left off, Arthur couldn't help but wonder what had been said between Dutch and Hosea. The two of them refused to make eye contact for the next hour, and Arthur found himself feeling responsible for whatever heated tiff they'd had outside.

The thought that Mary would want nothing to do with him after today also crossed his mind, although he wouldn't blame her. They were all rough around the edges, himself included. He couldn't fathom a reason why anyone of Mary's status in society would choose to stoop so low. She had all the comforts society offered to the select few, and to join him would mean giving up those comforts. Their life was far from glamorous, and oftentimes full of upheaval and change. Stability didn't exist for them, and they were anything but upstanding citizens. As much as Dutch preached that they were doing society a favor with their swindling and thieving, Arthur knew better. Sure, there were times when they directly redistributed their profits, but more often than not, they simply kept it for themselves.

They weren't good people, and all at once, Arthur felt like a fool for even thinking he could have a long-lasting relationship with Mary.

A touch to his hand underneath the table pulled him from his thoughts, and he turned to find Mary looking at him with concern in her eyes. Yet, he didn't give her the chance to ask the question he knew was on her tongue. Taking her hand in his and flashing her a smile, seemed to steal the words from her, and he was relieved when she returned his smile.

Arthur was surprised, however, when the rest of the evening went smoothly. Susan seemed to lower her guard some, and more often than not, Mary was either smiling or laughing. Most of the gang treated her no differently, almost welcoming her in as if she was an old friend. Even Dutch was oddly civil for the rest of their time together, and Hosea happily taught her how to play a few card games (as well as how to successfully cheat at said card games). Annabelle, on the other hand, had graciously opted to watch rather than play.

When it came time for Mary to leave, she thanked them all for their hospitality as Arthur unhitched Boadicea. As he fed her an oatcake, he watched Mary as she made her way down the porch steps and over to his side. 

“You ready to go?” He asked.

“As ready as I’ll ever be,” 

Arthur quirked an eyebrow at that, although he couldn’t help the crooked grin that twisted his lips. “You really want to stick around after witnessing that mess?” 

“Give your family more credit,” she chuckled. “They were trying their best.”

He scoffed. “Shit, if that was their _best_, you might want t’quit now while you’re ahead!”

The remark earned him a light slap to his arm, and he only laughed as he helped her onto his horse.

He had Boadicea stop where they usually parted ways once they reached the street Mary lived on. Yet he didn’t take his hands off her hips when he helped her dismount. Instead, he kept them there for a moment as he studied her before holding her hands in his.

“You know you ain’t gotta pretend that you had a good time,”

“I ain’t pretending!” 

Arthur narrowed his eyes. “You sure?” 

She nodded. “Dutch and Susan may have been intimidating at times, but I enjoyed myself.”

He studied her closely, and when he found that she was telling the truth, he felt the tension in his shoulders dissipate all at once. “Was that true that you’ve been in worse company?”

Mary’s smile quirked higher to one side as she lifted one shoulder in a half-shrug. “Perhaps.”

The mischievous glint in her eye made him chuckle. “You’re just full of surprises, ain’t you?”

“And the same could be said about you, Mr. Morgan,”

He shook his head before gently pressing his lips to her forehead. “Goodnight, Mary.”

Arthur eyed the leather straps to his stirrups before adjusting them once again to fit Jamie. He stood in front of Boadicea and examined the length of them before nodding to himself, satisfied with his work. Jamie watched him with wary eyes from where he sat atop the saddle. The size of the mare, while she wasn’t the size of a draft horse by any means, made the boy seem even smaller by comparison, and her height, despite Arthur’s repetitive encouragement, only worsened his nerves.

“You’re gonna be alright, Jamie,” Arthur said reassuringly as he caught the boy studying the distance between him and the ground with wide eyes. “She hasn’t thrown me once, and as long as you do as I say, she won’t throw you either.”

“How do you know?” 

“Bo’ is the best horse I know. Trust me, kid, she’ll take care of you.” He answered as he patted the mare on her shoulder. “Now we’re just gonna start with walkin’, help you get familiar with the feel of riding.”

Arthur took the reins in his hand then, and he couldn’t help but chuckle at the way the kid clung to the saddle horn. He led Boadicea in a slow walk in a wide circle. The tall grass of the field softened their steps, and Arthur breathed in the early morning summer air. The trees had shed all their blossoms, and as he watched the leaves rustle in the wind, Arthur noticed that most of them no longer wore the vibrant green of their new growth. 

As they continued their leisurely circle, Mary watched from the shade of a nearby tree. Even from where she stood, she could practically see the fear leave Jamie the longer they walked their circle. His posture had become relaxed, and he had even started to smile. The sight made her heart flutter. Considering all that Arthur was, she couldn’t help but find it strange how well he treated Jamie. The young man had been quick to take him under his wing when he could. There had even been days when Jamie would come back to the house only to talk about how Arthur had met him along the way to the general store or post office and had taken him on some mild outdoor adventure. 

After hearing Jamie talk about such things, she had done her best to accompany him whenever he left the house. While Mary didn’t mind the attention he got from Arthur, she feared how her father would react if he found out. Doing so also allowed her to spend more time with Arthur and Jamie. It was a win-win situation that she was more than happy to have.

Watching Arthur hand Jamie the reins pulled her from her thoughts, and she held her breath. Arthur’s horse was now under Jamie’s control, and while she didn’t doubt that Boadicea had a heart of gold, she still found herself fearing for her brother’s safety. 

Arthur continued to coach the boy from the ground, and he couldn’t help but grin when Jamie finally urged the mare to a gentle trot at his request. The kid was a quick learner, and Arthur felt a swell of pride at his growing confidence. Jamie was a natural, and Arthur was relieved to see him learning a practical skill. It was Arthur’s desire to pass on skills that would help protect the boy. Between having to step in when the Barlow boys pounced and watching him cower in his father’s shadow, Arthur wanted to help, and teaching Jamie the things that he’d learned was the only way he knew how without physically stepping in.

Thankfully, Jamie took in every word he said. He was attentive to details and hardworking, and the two traits combined made him an excellent student.

Jamie had already started to get a feel for cantering when Bessie called them inside for lunch. The intensity of the day’s heat had yet to settle in, and the three of them decided to eat outside on the porch. They ate in the shade of the porch as Jamie talked incessantly about all that he had learned and how he couldn’t wait to get his own horse. 

Mary winced at that as she set her plate down on the folding table beside her. “Jamie, you know we can’t afford a horse with Mother being sick.”

The kid’s smile fell at the reminder as his eyes lowered to the potatoes that were left on his plate. “I know.”

Arthur furrowed his brow as he set his fork down. “You know, I could buy a horse for you two.”

Mary’s gaze snapped to meet his. “Oh, Arthur, I couldn’t ask that of you!”

“You didn’t ask,” He smirked. “I’m offerin’.”

She shook her head. “No, it’s too risky, and we’ve been doing just fine without one.”

“Sure, but it would make life easier,”

“No,”

“Look, all you’d have to do is tell your old man that some ranch hand was offering a horse at a low price,”

“And just _where _would we keep it?”

“You’d stable it,”

“We don’t have that kind of money, Arthur,”

“Maybe not, but I do,”

She pinched the bridge of her nose before pressing her fingertips to her forehead. When she finally met his eyes, she knew there was no sense in talking him out of it. For whatever reason, Arthur was determined to do this for them despite how ambitious it was. While it was frustrating, she couldn’t help but find his generosity endearing.

“If you do this, Daddy’s going to find out about you. You know that, right?” She asked.

Arthur dismissed her comment with a wave of his hand. “I ain’t afraid of him.”

“That ain’t what I’m trying to say,” she sighed before turning to her brother. “Jamie, do you mind giving us a moment?”

The boy nodded, and when he went inside, she drew a deep breath before continuing.

“Listen, Arthur, I know you don’t think fondly of Daddy, and nor he of you, but if you deliberately do things to annoy him, I don’t know if he’ll ever…”

He tilted his head as her voice trailed off. “If he’ll ever what?”

She shook her head. “I know he has a quick temper, but I need you to at least _try_ to make a decent impression. Surely, you could manage that.”

Arthur scoffed to himself. “That man already has a certain idea set in his mind about me.”

“He’s only trying to look out for me,”

His brow furrowed as his gaze settled on the treeline. It may have all been true, but Arthur was convinced that there was no changing the man’s opinion of him. Her father had given it away in his eyes the day they’d met. Arthur had seen eyes like that before, and he knew from experience that there was nothing that could change a man like that. Yet, at the same time, Arthur was willing to do almost anything for Mary. She had stolen his heart, and he sighed before finally nodding.

“Fine, I’ll try to be on my best behavior,” he huffed.

“Thank you, Arthur,” 

A sly grin then pulled at the corner of his mouth. “So, no horse?”

She rolled her eyes, but her displeasure could only be feigned for a brief moment before she laughed. “No horse.”

Jamie was then called back out to rejoin them, and they stayed for another hour before leaving. When Arthur still hadn’t come inside after thirty minutes, Hosea joined him out on the porch. The young man had moved to the bench where he was studying his gambler hat that was in his hands. Hosea frowned and scratched the back of his neck as he sat down beside him. He’d thought the three youngsters had enjoyed their time together, yet between Arthur’s fidgeting and the deep crease between his brows, Hosea knew that he was troubled by something.

“What’s the matter, Arthur? I thought you had a good time.”

“We did,”

“Then what is it?” 

Arthur rolled the fraying ends of the leather cord between his fingers as he silently gathered his thoughts. “She wants me to play nice with her father.”

He raised an eyebrow at that. “And what does she mean by that?” 

“As of right now? It means keeping what we have hidden from him so he don’t throw a hissy fit.”

Hosea chuckled at his wording. “Well, for all we know, she could be trying to prepare him for that announcement. From the sounds of it, it seems that this is a delicate situation that requires proper timing.” 

He snorted. “We’ve been seeing each other for three months.”

“Exactly!” 

“What do you mean, _exactly?_”

He shrugged. “In the grand scheme of things, Arthur, that really isn’t very long.”

Arthur nearly pouted at that. “It ain’t?” 

“No,”

“But you and Bessie got married after four months!”

Hosea frowned. “I’m twenty-two years older than you, that doesn’t count.”

“Of course it don’t,” he muttered.

Hosea grinned at him as he leaned back against the bench. “You said that was her younger brother, right?” 

“Yeah,”

“He’s a sweet kid. You seem to have taken to him already,”

Arthur gave him a noncommittal shrug. 

“You almost looked like his big brother out there,” he mused fondly. “Seemed like it came naturally for you.”

He narrowed his eyes at Hosea, suddenly suspicious of his tone. It was more gentle than usual, and the smile on his face was oddly wistful. “Are you and Bessie plannin’ something?”

While he laughed, Arthur couldn’t help but catch the sad look that flashed in his eyes. “No, believe it or not, we tried, but it didn’t work out as we’d hoped.”

He tensed as his eyes flicked to his hat. Hosea’s words had created a heavy silence in their wake as Arthur processed the new information. Arthur didn’t have to ask what he meant in order to fill in the blanks. His fingers gripped the brim of the gambler hat tighter, unsure of what to say.

“You never mentioned that,”

Hosea heaved a sigh. “No, it happened while we were away, and the two of us prefer not to recall the memory as much as we can.”

“Was he…” Arthur paused as he curiously glanced up at him.

“She,”

He swallowed. “Was she alive when Bessie…”

“No,” he replied as he stared out at the treeline. His expression had become somber, as if his mind was suddenly miles, and even months, away. 

Arthur felt the news cut through his heart like a knife. He straightened himself and returned his hat to his head as he gave Hosea a sympathetic look. “I’m so sorry, Hosea.”

“Me too,” a small smile pulled at the corner of his mouth before he turned to Arthur and wrapped his arm around the young man’s shoulders. “But at least I have you.”

His words left Arthur smiling as he was reminded of the fact that Hosea saw him as his own. It had him forgetting his frustration with Mary and her father as they sat together. The older outlaw’s arm around him was soothing, and while Arthur wished he could take away Hosea’s grief, he hoped that his presence was at least a small comfort to him. 

Arthur checked his pocket watch for the umpteenth time that afternoon and scowled. A cold sense of dread settled in his gut as he returned the pocket watch to his pocket. He and Mary had agreed to meet twenty minutes ago, and for her to be even five minutes late to anything was unheard of. He exhaled slowly as he adjusted his hat and rose to his feet.

He had seen this coming several months ago. Arthur had even tried to warn Mary about the dangers of keeping their relationship hidden from her father. Waiting nearly half a year to tell a man like him was a terrible decision, yet as much as he had advised her to come clean, she had refused. 

Arthur wasn’t sure what to expect when he reached her house. He braced himself as he walked past the front porch and around to the side where her window was. He searched the ground and found a pebble by his feet and tossed it against her window. When there was no answer, he tossed another. Arthur shoved his hands into his pockets as he waited, staring up at her window. The seconds felt more like minutes, and the longer he waited, the tighter his chest felt. 

“_You!_” 

Arthur jumped at the sudden shout and whirled around to find Mr. Gillis stalking over to him. The man’s face was flushed red, and it was unclear to Arthur if it was from inebriation or rage. He tensed as the man stopped only a foot away from him, yet he kept his outer appearance stoic. Arthur refused to give the man any leverage over him.

“How _dare _you! I told you to stay away, you thief!” He shouted.

“I—”

“You’ve got some damn nerve thinking you can show up here! At _my _house looking for _my _daughter!”

Arthur scowled at that. “You don’t own her!”

His retort earned him a sharp slap to the face before Mr. Gillis fisted both hands in his shirt and pulled him close. “Where do you think you’ve got the right to tell me what to do, you fucking brat?” 

Arthur had clenched his fist to slug the man when he saw Mary round the corner of the house.

“Leave him alone, Daddy!” 

Mr. Gillis looked over his shoulder at her. “Go back inside!”

She straightened her shoulders and marched over to the two of them. “He ain’t done nothin’ to you.”

“I told him to stay away from you!”

“I _wanted _to see him. I even _asked _him to meet me.”

To say the comment took him by surprise was an understatement, and his grip on Arthur’s shirt loosened enough for him to free himself. “You _what?_ Why?”

“Because I love him,”

Her answer was beautifully simple, causing a lopsided grin to spread across Arthur’s face. 

“Now, if you’ll kindly excuse us, we have a date scheduled for this afternoon,” she said.

Arthur tipped his hat at Mr. Gillis as he walked around him, leaving him to balk at Mary’s boldness. When he offered her his arm, she gladly took it, and they began to make their way down the sidewalk. 

Once they were further down the way, she looked him over. Her eyes lingered on the fading red mark on his cheek as she furrowed her brow. “He didn’t hurt you, did he?” 

He shook his head. “Naw, I’ve had worse.”

She only shook her head at that. “I’m sorry.”

“Weren’t your fault,”

As they walked, he couldn’t help but recall her words from earlier. The three words that had stupefied her father and made him momentarily forget that he was trying to put Arthur in his place. He didn’t quite believe them. Surely, she had only said such a thing to distract her enraged father, right?

“So, you love me, huh?” He teased. “Was that all for show?”

“No, Arthur,” she huffed. “You’re stubborn, and you drive me mad at times, but I do love you.”

He felt an overwhelming warmth come over him as his heart stumbled over its own rhythm. His smile only grew as his eyes flitted to the ground before meeting hers. Arthur was certain he was red in the face, and judging by the amusement that glinted in her eyes, he was right. Mary leaned up to give him a peck on his warm and rosy cheek. He chuckled to himself, feeling like a fool.

“Mary?”

“Yes?”

“I love you too,”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all, I hope everyone is staying safe out there!! These are certainly some trying times, and I hope everyone is doing okay <3
> 
> It's been a crazy week for sure. Thank you for your patience with this update! With work is now closed until the 27th, and while I'll have to be adjusting curriculum so I can teach online, I'll at least have more time to write! 
> 
> So, I headcanon that Hosea and Bessie did want kids, but couldn't. Hence the conversation in this chapter. They don't really like to talk about it though, as it is a painful memory for them both. :C
> 
> Thank you everyone for taking the time to read this! 
> 
> PS: I know I said John is on the horizon, and he is! Don't worry! He may be making his first appearance in chapter 16 or 17 :3
> 
> PPS: Yes that's a crazy long chapter title but I wanted to use it anyway 🤣


	15. Little Lion Man

In the winter of the following year, they faced more snow than they’d had in a while. There was hardly a day when there wasn’t fresh snow covering the ground, and it nearly drove Arthur mad with cabin fever. He had to be mindful of when he could ride into town. If the snow had melted that day, he had to take into account how the snowmelt would freeze over and turn to ice. The last thing Arthur wanted was to risk breaking one of Boadicea’s legs trying to navigate the slick roads covered in snow and ice, which on most days, left him cooped up either inside the farmhouse or on the property. Arthur swore to Hosea (several times) that it was the closest thing to torture he’d ever experienced in his life. Of course, it was during those conversations that Hosea would humorously remind him that he was neither starving nor freezing and that the young man couldn’t claim that he was being tortured (although Arthur was persistent that he could at least claim he was losing his mind).

Copper seemed to share the same sentiment. As much as the coonhound enjoyed playing in the snow, it was only fun for so long. Both of them preferred warmer weather, and with both of them growing more stir crazy by the day, the adults in the house were also beginning to lose their sanity. 

With all their pent up energy, it wasn’t uncommon to find the two of them up to shenanigans. Some days, Arthur and Copper would chase each other around the house, leaving the others to dodge them as they tore through the hall before wrestling each other on the floor. It was rarely quiet, and it was on one of those oddly quiet mornings when Hosea decided to ventured into the pantry to find that Copper had discovered where they stored their flour. The two of them had simply stared at each other for a long moment, sparkling brown eyes meeting a pair of narrowed ones.

"Arthur," he called. "You might want to take a look at this."

The young man looked up from his journal and furrowed his brow before rising from the settee he'd been lounging on. When he peered into the pantry, his jaw dropped at the sight.

Copper was absolutely covered, making him more white than red, and was thoroughly pleased with his work. His tail wagged as he stood on the mound of powder, further spreading it everywhere in a thick cloud. The coonhound licked his lips and practically smiled as he rose to his feet and jumped up to place his front paws on Arthur’s chest. 

Arthur grunted as he was forced to take a step back as Copper licked at his face, and Hosea couldn’t help but laugh at the white paw marks that were left on his shirt.

“I thought things had been a bit too quiet,” Hosea chuckled.

“Sorry, I should’ve been keeping my eye on him,” he replied as he removed Copper’s paws from his chest and lowered him to the ground. “I’ll take care of the mess and buy some more when I’m done.”

“Don’t worry about buying more,” he said. “Come on. I’ll help you get this cleaned up.”

Thankfully, that was the last time Copper got into the pantry, although it wasn’t the last time he got up to harmless trouble. The coonhound loved every one of them, and there were some nights when he’d show his affection by jumping into someone’s bed while they were sleeping. It was a miracle that Copper remained unscathed whenever he startled one of them awake. Dutch, of course, was the one who questioned Arthur about the new habit and just when exactly Copper had decided that jumping onto beds was okay.

While Arthur knew the answer, he played dumb and claimed he didn’t know. He didn’t want Dutch asking why he’d let the dog sleep in his own bed and finding out it’d been because of his nightmares from a while back. 

It was in February when Dutch had gotten wind of a potential house robbery. He and Annabelle had initially been at the local tavern for the sole purpose of enjoying themselves when he’d overheard it. There was a gambling man that lived on the outskirts of town who also doubled as a predatory loan shark. The news was the first thing out of Dutch’s mouth when they walked through the door, and while Dutch seemed over the moon with his new plan of robbing the gentleman to repay him for his malice, Arthur couldn’t help but notice how apprehensive Annabelle was. While she didn’t feel strongly one way or the other about their new potential target, it was clear that she felt wary of the situation. For as much as she enjoyed playing a role in their heists, she was uncharacteristically reluctant. Yet, Dutch insisted that they would be fine as long as they didn’t get hasty. He would do his due diligence and first scope out the area to make sure it was worth their time and to see if it was safe. 

While Hosea shared Annabelle’s sentiment, Arthur hardly thought twice about volunteering to join Dutch. It had been a while since they’d pulled a bigger score together, and he was eager to get out of the house. Hosea shot him a look that he ignored and instead focussed on the way Dutch beamed at his readiness to help.

“I’m glad I have at least _one _person among you lot who's ready and willing to join me,” Dutch said.

Hosea heaved an exasperated sigh as he massaged his temple. “You know it’s not that simple, Dutch.”

“Well, it looks that way to me,” 

Arthur stared down at the table as he tuned them out. He wasn’t the only one who was restless from being cooped up inside, and it had become commonplace for Dutch and Hosea to argue with each other. Arthur tried to ignore it when he could. It was tiring listening to the two of them quarrel, and the one time he’d tried to settle the argument and be the peacemaker, Dutch had snapped and told him to mind his own business. 

The comment had, of course, led to _another _disagreement with Hosea defending him, but Arthur only had to be told once to learn to mind his place in the pecking order.

Dutch and Hosea rarely came to a compromise that left both of them satisfied, and Arthur could tell that Hosea wasn’t happy that the decision was to let Arthur decide for himself. After all, in Dutch’s words, Arthur was no longer a boy. The comment had left Hosea silent in his ire, and Arthur swore his eyes were bright enough with his anger to ignite a match.

To no one’s surprise, Arthur decided to go with Dutch, and Hosea didn’t say a word as the two of them gathered their things and shrugged on their jackets to start scouting the place.

Annabelle sighed when the door closed after them and sat down across from Hosea. “I’m sorry, I tried to talk him out of it.”

“I know you did,” he sighed.

“Arthur has a good head on his shoulders,” she added. “He’ll be okay.”

“I hope you’re right,” he said as he rose to his feet. “For Dutch’s sake.”

Dutch and Arthur spent a week scoping out the house that was on the corner of the street on the outskirts of the city. They took turns learning the gentleman’s routine, and between the two of them, they had learned the ins and outs of it in no time. Arthur even paid a chimney sweep double what he was making so he could go in his stead to get a look at the interior of the house.

Their plan by the end of the week was foolproof. Dutch was to distract the man while Arthur would steal what he could. It was easy enough, and with the house being smaller than their own, Arthur had no doubt that he’d be able to make quick work of scouring the place.

The two of them waited for the man on a bench farther down the street. Dutch lit a cigar to smoke in the meantime as Arthur pulled his coat tighter around him and folded his arms across his chest. There was still a bite to the air that chilled him to the bone and turned both of their cheeks rosy, but he was thankful that there was less snow on the ground. They hadn’t had any more snowfall for over a week, and Arthur never thought he’d be so grateful to see the grimy cobblestone streets of Milwaukee again.

Dutch took a puff of his cigar before breaking the silence. “You’ve been dating that girl for what, three years now?”

Arthur wasn’t sure what to make of the question, and he hesitated before nodding. “Just about, come March.”

“You set on keeping her?”

“That’s the plan,”

Dutch raised an eyebrow at him. “Is that right?”

He swallowed. “Yeah.”

“You ain’t lost sight of what’s important, have you?”

“Nossir,”

“Good, because at the end of the day, family is all you’ve got. We stick together through thick and thin, and I’ve got to know that you have our backs. We need you.”

Arthur gripped his coat tighter. “What if she were to join our family?”

A gusty laugh escaped Dutch at that, and Arthur winced ever so slightly at the sound, feeling ashamed for voicing the thought. “You never told me that marriage was on your mind, son! How old are you now? Nineteen?” 

He furrowed his brow. “I’ll be twenty this year.”

“Same difference,” he replied with a dismissive wave of his hand. “You’re too young to be thinking about marriage!”

Arthur’s frown deepened. “You just said I was old enough to make my own decisions last week.”

“But _marriage_?” He scoffed. “Be reasonable, Arthur. You’ve gotta get your head out of them damn clouds, son.”

Arthur held back the biting remark that was on his tongue. He’d both seen and done things that were far beyond his years, and yet marriage was where Dutch drew the line? It didn’t make sense to him.

“Listen, Arthur. I’m only worried about you. If you don't keep your priorities straight, I’m afraid you may do something you’ll end up regretting, or that you'll get hurt. I’m only looking out for you.”

He didn’t reply as his eyes wandered down the sidewalk, where he found the loan shark making his way towards them. “There he is.”

Dutch followed his gaze and smiled to himself. “You ready, Arthur?” 

“Yessir,” 

He stood and made his way over to the man while Arthur stayed where he was. It was only when the gentleman was thoroughly distracted when he rose to his feet and slipped behind the neighboring houses to get to the backdoor. Picking the lock was easy. He’d studied it as much as he could from the inside. Arthur smiled to himself when he heard the soft click he’d been looking for, and he quietly eased the door open before slipping inside. 

Arthur had an idea of where to look for valuables from his chimney sweeping visit. He made sure to close each drawer that he searched, and when he finished, he examined his handiwork and smirked. The place, at a glance, looked like he had never been there, let alone robbed the man. 

Dutch had briefly told him about the things he’d done to naive folks who were trying to survive in the cruelty of society, and Arthur was glad to have played a part in making things fair and just. Arthur had stolen a look at his ledger when he’d scouted the inside. It had confirmed what Dutch had told him, and the entries he saw had made his blood run hot. After today, he hoped that the man would finally get a taste of his own bitter medicine.

Arthur left the way he came, silently slipping out the back door before taking his place at the bench once again. By the time Dutch was finished, he could hardly feel his fingers. He cupped them over his mouth and blew on them, his breath forming a thick cloud in the frigid air. As Arthur rubbed his hands together, he caught a glimpse of the gentleman entering his house. 

Dutch strolled over to him, his grin wide in anticipation. Arthur was one of the best thieves he knew, and he had witnessed firsthand many times how he could rob someone blind. He could be as silent and graceful as a stag when he needed to be, and the thought alone made him overwhelmingly proud of the boy. When he reached Arthur, he tucked his hands into his pockets and looked down at him from where he stood. 

“Find anything valuable?”

A wide smirk spread across Arthur’s face. “What do you think?”

“Judging by that grin of yours, I think you practically robbed every cent he had!”

He shrugged. “I wouldn’t say _every _cent.”

Dutch laughed and gestured for Arthur to follow him as they walked over to where they’d hitched their horses. 

Arthur tossed his reins over Boadicea’s neck and paused as he watched Dutch mount his horse. “You think that bastard’ll learn his lesson?”

“What lesson?” 

“You know,” Arthur said as he hoisted himself into his saddle. “About robbing people and taking advantage of them?”

“Oh, that,” Dutch replied as if an epiphany had dawned on him. “Of course he will! If you robbed him like I think you did, he’ll think more than twice about taking advantage of the next poor soul who needs a loan.”

Arthur furrowed his brow as he followed Dutch, unsure of what to make of the situation and hoping that Dutch was right. 

“You ever get tired of breaking the law, Arthur?” 

Arthur wrinkled his nose at the question that interrupted the birdsong in the trees above. He’d nearly dozed off lying in the grass with Mary lying next to him. The weight of her head on his shoulder and the occasional caress of a gentle breeze was soothing, and he begrudgingly opened his eyes with a small sigh.

“I don’t get what you mean,”

“You know exactly what I mean,” she huffed. There was no malice in her voice. Her question had been an honest one, one that Arthur wasn’t sure he knew the answer to. 

His eyes flitted to the patch of sky he could see between the leaves. “Maybe sometimes.”

“Then why do it? You could work an honest job if you wanted.”

Arthur swallowed back a surge of heat. It had been simmering again over the last few months, resurfacing the itch he’d thought he’d purged for good. It wasn’t Mary’s fault the feeling had returned, and in no way did he feel it was directed at her. If anything, it came from the way his heart was being pulled in two opposing directions. He could feel himself being torn in two, loyalty and love at war and raging inside him.

“I really don’t think I could,” he eventually replied.

“That ain’t true,”

He snorted. “How the hell do you know?”

“Ain’t you ever heard of a woman’s intuition?” She grinned.

“A woman’s intuition can’t fix what I’ve done,”

She sat up and studied him intently. “What do you mean?” 

He chuckled sadly to himself as he tucked a dark lock of her hair behind her ear. “I hate to break it to you, but as I've said before, I ain’t a good man.”

“Nonsense!” 

Arthur rolled his eyes, and she replied in kind by pulling his hat over his face. He sputtered before laughter spilled from his lips, lifting a hand to fix his hat as a lopsided grin pulled at the corner of his mouth. Yet, fixing his hat proved to be useless as he responded by gently tackling her to the grass.

Mary laughed at his playful retaliation, and as her laughter subsided, she took a moment to stare up at him as he hovered over her. The patch of sky above them nearly formed a halo above his head, and the deep blue sky only made his eyes stand out all the more. It was a breathtaking sight, and she smiled as she cradled his face in her hands. The gesture made Arthur’s eyes crinkle as he pressed his forehead to hers before brushing their lips together. Mary chased his light kiss with a deeper one, parting shortly after as she ran her fingers through his sandy hair. 

“Imagine the life we could have together, Arthur,” she said softly, gazing up into his half-lidded eyes.

“That’d be quite the life,” he mused fondly.

“It’s possible, you know?”

“I don’t know if I’d fit so well,”

“Please, you are more than capable of ‘fitting in’,”

“I’d rather be an outlaw than live in society's cage,”

She frowned at that. “And just what do you think robbing and stealing people leads to? A life of luxury doing whatever you please? The longer you live this life, the more people are gonna want you behind bars, or worse. I may not be able to do whatever I please, but at least my path don’t lead to a real cage.”

Arthur muttered under his breath as he straightened himself and returned his hat to his head. “That’s easy for you to say, seein’ as you ain’t ever lived on the street before.”

“Arthur—”

“I was hardly twelve when society left me to fend for myself. I spent more nights than I can count starving, freezing, or worse. It was my gang who took me in and cared for me when no one else would. Now, we ain't the best people, but this is the lot I've been dealt, and I gotta play the cards I’ve been given.”

Mary shook her head as she sat up. “You can’t live your life stuck in the past. It’s holding you back, Arthur. Things could be different.” 

He scoffed. "You make it sound so easy."

She shrugged. "Well, it ain't impossible."

"That father of yours is,"

“You can’t fault him for trying his best to look out for his family,”

“But he can fault _me?_” He snapped, his eyes suddenly fiery. “The hypocrite who looks out for his family by drinkin’ and gamblin’? I’m trying my damn best to please him, but apparently, that ain’t good enough!”

Her eyebrows drew tightly together. “You have no right to make such accusations!”

There was something in Arthur that told him to stop there, that he’d started to dip his toes in waters he had no right stepping into. Yet he couldn’t stop himself. He’d opened up a box he’d kept locked for too long, and it was as if he’d lost the key and broken the latch. 

“What right do I have, then? Because God forbid I state the obvious about your daddy. At least I know what I am, and I ain’t afraid to call it like it is!” 

“Arthur—”

“I can’t pretend to be something I’m not just to win your daddy’s approval when it don’t even exist—”

“When have I ever asked that of you?” She snapped as she felt her anger rise. “Not once have I asked you to be something you’re not!”

“You ain’t ever said it, but I know that’s what you want. There ain’t no sense for someone like you to marry an outlaw.” He retorted. 

The bite in his tone did nothing to hide the sadness and longing in his eyes, and it was that alone that extinguished her indignation. Her brow smoothed as she drew a deep breath through her nose before a small smile broke her stoic expression. “You’ve thought about marrying me?”

He hesitated, a new heat rising in his cheeks. His frustration was stolen from him in an instant as he searched for the right words. He swallowed and shifted his weight. “Haven’t you?” 

“I asked first,”

Arthur’s eyes flitted to a large oak nearby, and he watched as a squirrel chased another before jumping to another tree. His throat felt impossibly tight, and he summoned up the courage to look her in the eye. “I have.”

Mary’s smile widened, feeling a blush creep into her cheeks as she reached out to hold his hand. “I don’t expect you to be anyone else but you, Arthur, but you _do _have the potential to be an honest man.”

He laughed at that. “Like hell, I do.”

As much as she wanted to argue otherwise, she knew how pointless it would be. She heaved a sigh as she pulled her hair up. Arthur watched as she did, and while he knew it was nothing remarkable, he felt compelled to capture the moment by sketching it. Without a word, he withdrew his journal from his satchel, opened up to a blank page, and put his pencil to the paper.

She noticed the movement out of the corner of her eye and turned to find him sketching the outline of a figure. Mary quirked an eyebrow as her gaze shifted to his face, where she found him intensely focused on his drawing. For a moment, she briefly considered asking the obvious, to ask him what he was drawing. Yet when he glanced up and locked eyes with her, the question disappeared from her tongue as he wordlessly asked for permission to continue. She gave the faintest of nods and placed her hands in her lap before staying still for him. 

When he finished, she asked to see it, and after some gentle persuading, he showed the drawing to her. She complimented him on it, gushing over how talented he was. Mary’s praise flustered him, causing his face to turn red for the second time that day. 

The early spring air had started to lose what warmth it had by the time Arthur dropped Mary off at her house. Now that her father knew they were seeing each other, he didn’t see the point in parting ways down the street anymore, and as long as Mary was nearby, he knew her father wouldn’t dare to try anything. He may have been a selfish bastard in Arthur’s opinion, but he wasn’t a madman. 

Yet it was as he was leaning in to kiss her when the front door to her house opened abruptly. Mary jumped, and they both looked over to find her father in the doorway. As she said goodbye and made her way towards the door, Arthur locked eyes with Mr. Gillis. They glared at each other, holding each other’s gaze until Mary pulled at her father’s arm to get him to go inside, and it was only when the door had slammed shut when Arthur realized his hands had clenched into tight fists at his side.

The brief standoff had reignited the itch under his skin with renewed strength. It was nearly unbearable, and he mounted Boadicea before riding to the tavern farther into town. When he stepped inside, he didn’t hesitate to order a drink, opting to order a shot of whiskey over the beer he normally drank. 

Arthur slammed the drink down and scowled at the empty glass as he leaned against the counter. His thoughts churned together like a stormy sea, and he signaled the bartender for another shot before he looked over his shoulder and scanned the tavern. He had told Hosea more than a year ago that he’d sworn off bar fighting, but surely the older outlaw could find it in him to forgive him for slipping tonight. Hosea never stayed angry with him for long, anyway. 

Only a fight could provide the instant relief that he was so desperate for from the growing unrest inside him. He didn’t think he could stand another second of it, and as he studied the patrons, he hastily picked a man out from the crowd. He was lean and about Arthur’s height, and his stature reminded him of a cornstalk. There was no doubt in his mind that he could take him, and the man had been smirking at him since he’d stepped through the door. Arthur didn’t like it, and if anything, it only riled up his anger. Arthur thanked the bartender for the drink he’d poured, downed it, and made his way over to the stranger.

His eyes must’ve had a fiery look in them, for the man’s sneer grew wider, silently mocking him from across the room before he nodded towards the door and left the tavern. Arthur clenched his fists as he followed, feeling his blood boil. His face was hot, although he couldn’t tell if it was from the whiskey or his anger. 

As he stumbled out the door and rounded the corner of the tavern, he couldn’t help but imagine how his fists would look striking the man’s face. He was more than ready for a fight, yet nothing could’ve prepared him for the sight he found in the alley between the tavern and another bricked building.

He froze, the hair on the back of his neck standing on end as he took in his surroundings. There were two other men already waiting in the alley with the stranger Arthur had followed, and he felt his blood run cold as his eyes landed on the green neckerchiefs some of them wore. 

The realization that he’d let the alcohol now running through him rob him of his better judgment was like a slap to the face. He’d walked right into a trap. Arthur spun around to retreat when another O’Driscoll appeared at the mouth of the alley, blocking his only escape. Fear coursed through him, his heart beating at a rabbit fast pace as the ramifications of his mistake sank in. They settled like a heavy weight in his gut as the man closed in on him.

His only hope of escape was for him to try to fight his way out, but even he could see how unlikely that was. Arthur was outnumbered, out muscled, and out sobered. 

Regardless, he was still stubborn as a mule, and he clenched his fists and swung with all his strength, determined not to go down without a fight.

The whiskey, however, made him slow, and the O’Driscoll, who was easily a head taller than him, caught his wrist. Arthur scowled, throwing his weight behind his free fist. Yet he missed again as the smirking stranger stepped to the side and shoved him to the ground. 

Arthur winced as his head knocked against the hard ground, the impact causing a stabbing burst of pain to pulse through his skull. The world around him spun as the ringing in his head drowned out the words the four men were saying to each other. He struggled to get his feet underneath him, and he only made it to his hands and knees before he felt something blunt and hard strike his temple. Pain erupted in his head, and he groaned as he rolled onto his back. Despite his blurred vision, he made out the four crooked grins that loomed over him. Another wave of vertigo came over him, causing his vision to tunnel before his world was consumed by blackness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A lot of you called this moment :3 Here you go <3
> 
> Also, with work being closed and having all this time on my hands, I thought I'd put out an early update! I know this whole situation isn't easy on anyone, and I hope updating is helping in some way. <3 My best wishes go out to each and every one of you during this difficult time!!
> 
> There might still be an update on Saturday/Sunday, but we'll see! It depends on what happens with work and such. No one knows what to do about the school year yet.
> 
> Thank you again for all your support, whether it's by following this fic, reading, leaving a kudos, and/or commenting. Words cannot express how much I appreciate it <3


	16. Long Way from Home

The warm morning light filtering in through the sheer curtains roused Hosea from his sleep. As he blinked open his eyes, he took in how the sunlight shone into the room and realized that he’d slept longer than he’d intended to. Still lying on his side, his eyes flicked to the window, noting that whatever rain had passed through late in the night had cleared up. 

As he drew a deep breath, he felt Bessie’s arm tighten around his waist. He smiled as she pressed a soft kiss to his nape.

“Good morning, my love,” he said.

He felt her smile. “Good morning, it looks like it’s going to be a lovely day.”

“Perhaps,” he mused as he rolled onto his back to meet her eyes, “but never as lovely as you.”

She chuckled at that. “Ever the outlaw with a silver tongue.”

“Always,” 

Bessie lifted her hand to run her fingers through his blond hair, her fingers lingering on the silver hairs that were beginning to show at his temple. Oddly enough, she was fond of them. They left her recalling their journey, both together and apart. Life hadn’t been easy for either of them, but in the end, she wouldn’t have it any other way. For her, it provided perspective, insight, and gratitude for the things she had. 

Hosea took her hand in his and kissed her knuckles. “Please don’t remind me that I’m already going gray.”

Her eyes crinkled at that, amusement glinting in them. “My apologies, Mr. Matthews.”

He grinned, leaned forward to press a lingering kiss to her forehead, and rose from the bed to shuffle his way down the hall. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Copper lying by the front door. He furrowed his brow and paused by the kitchen’s entryway as he studied the coonhound. Hosea didn’t think a dog could look sullen, but he was proven wrong as Copper heaved a sigh. Although, it wasn’t uncommon to find the dog waiting by the door for Arthur’s return, which left Hosea assuming the boy had left the house early that morning. 

The dog noticed his presence and jumped to his feet before trotting over to him. Hosea knelt to rub the dog’s ears, and the coonhound whined quietly, pressing his head into his hand before burying it in his chest. 

“Hey, you’re alright, Copper,” he said gently as he straightened himself. Hosea looked into the kitchen to find Dutch reading a newspaper at the table, and Copper trailed closely behind him as he walked over to him.

“Did Arthur remember to let Copper out?” He asked.

Dutch shrugged as he continued to scan the paper in his hands. “Don’t know, he left before I was up. Probably had a date he didn’t want to miss.”

He rolled his eyes at Dutch’s tone but held his tongue. “Were you up when he came home?”

“No,” he lifted his eyes to meet Hosea’s, “he might’ve spent the night at her place or rented a hotel room for the night.”

He scowled. “Please, as if you’re any better.”

Dutch folded over the newspaper. “When are we going to stop this, Hosea? This bickering?”

“As soon as you start respecting Arthur and his decisions,” he said pointedly.

“And_ you_ do?” He scoffed. “Sure, he’s fine to make his own decisions, but as soon as he wants in on one of _my_ plans, you suddenly think you know what’s best for him!” 

“To be honest with you, Dutch, your plans aren’t always thought through,”

Dutch glared at him. “Fuck you.”

“How very grown-up of you,”

The comment sent the younger outlaw on a heated tangent, and Hosea only paid attention to half of what he was saying as he watched Copper sniff at Arthur’s chair before lying down beside it. He frowned, and as Dutch was ranting about how Hosea had changed since marrying Bessie, he raised a hand to interrupt him. 

“Do you know if Arthur came home _at all_ last night?” 

“I don’t know, Hosea! I ain’t his wet nurse.” He huffed. “The boy had mentioned marrying that girl several months ago. Hell, for all we know he could’ve decided to elope and—”

Hosea didn’t stay to hear the rest of his sentence as he made his way to the back door to look for Boadicea among the other horses. When he didn’t find her, he forced himself to take a deep breath. It was far too early in the day to sound the proverbial warning bell, and Arthur had no obligation to tell them when or where he’d be at all times. Yet Hosea couldn’t shake the unsettling feeling in his gut no matter how hard he tried. 

Arthur winced as he slowly came to. His head was pounding, splitting even. He could only recall one other time when his head had throbbed with so much pain, and that was when his father had gotten hold of him after helping himself to a jug of moonshine. The pain, however, didn’t surprise him. He could feel the dried blood that caked the side of his face and neck, and the two combined was a grim reminder of the blows he’d taken to the head.

The sound of laughter was the next thing that registered through his fog, that and the ache in his shoulders and wrists. Arthur blinked his eyes open, grimacing as the bright morning light intensified the throbbing in his head. He shifted, feeling something rough catch against his shirt that clung damply to his skin. The rain had done him no favors last night, although he hadn't decided yet if he was grateful that he’d been unconscious for most of it. Arthur flexed his wrists, feeling the course line of rope that bound them tightly together. He rested his head against the tree he was bound to, briefly squeezing his eyes shut before opening them again to study his surroundings. 

He didn’t recognize where he was, nor did he know how long they’d been on the path before stopping. Fear gripped him at the thought. There was no way to tell how far he was from Milwaukee, nor where they were heading. 

Arthur drew a deep breath. No, that wasn’t true. He had some idea of where they were heading, and that was straight to Colm. There wasn’t a doubt in Arthur's mind that he had arranged this, and that he had asked for him to be brought back alive. 

It was then that he realized the unlikelihood of Dutch or Hosea finding him. Milwaukee was miles away, and the rain had no doubt washed away any trace of the trail they’d left behind.

He swallowed and examined the O’Driscoll campsite. They were all in good spirits, no doubt from successfully capturing him. What fire they’d had going that night was now a pile of smoldering ash, and Arthur felt himself shiver involuntarily. He was tied about twenty feet away, far from the warmth that had taunted him after the rain had subsided. They had rolled their tents and bedrolls up by now, and as one O’Driscoll secured his things to his horse, he caught Arthur staring and smirked.

Arthur glared at him. It was all he could do as he sat bound in the wet grass.

“Hey, look who’s awake!”

The man who was as thin as a rail looked over at Arthur. “Just in time!”

Arthur tensed as the two men approached him. They had both drawn their knives, and the lanky O’Driscoll held his blade to Arthur’s throat as the other cut a rope that had kept his bound wrists tied to the tree.

“You get any wise ideas, and you’re dead!” He sneered as he pressed the blade firmly against his throat, pressing it hard enough to cut into his skin without wounding him. Arthur didn’t dare to breathe, feeling the bite of the metal that left a stinging reminder of the man’s threat when he lowered the knife. “We haven’t forgotten what you did to Allan and Clyde.”

Arthur drew a deep breath through his nose as he felt a small trickle of blood travel down his neck, but he refused to say anything.

He was hauled onto his feet, and he hated how he had to be half carried, half dragged over to a horse due to losing all feeling in his legs from sitting for so long.

“Now get on, we’ve got a long ride ahead of us, and we don’t have all day,”

Hosea sat on the front porch, reading with his foot resting against the railing. As he read, his eyes would flit to the path that led to their house, hoping to see Arthur on the horizon. Yet as the daylight gradually receded and cast long shadows along the grass, the young man had still not returned home. His gaze settled on the leaves that glittered like gold in the fading light, the treeline illuminated by the setting sun. He frowned. The uneasy feeling that had started as a worry in the back of his mind had now consumed him. For Arthur to not return to the farmhouse at all was unprecedented.

He drew a deep breath, reminding himself that it was hardly six-thirty and that it wasn’t unusual for Arthur to return late in the night. Hosea leaned farther back in his chair, precariously balancing on the back two legs as he kept himself balanced with his foot he had situated against the railing.

“Hosea?”

The sudden disruption in the evening’s silence startled him, causing him to nearly fall out of his chair. He quickly leaned forward, and when all four legs of his chair were on the ground again, he looked up to find Mary.

“Miss Gillis!” He greeted as he offered her a smile. “What brings you here? Where’s Arthur?”

“Well,” she fidgeted with the sleeve of her dress, “that’s why I’m here. We were supposed to meet at a restaurant in town, but he never showed. It ain’t like him to do that, so I thought maybe I’d find him here.”

His smile fell instantly as he rose to his feet. “We thought Arthur was with you.”

She shook her head, her face paling at the revelation. “No, I ain’t seen him since yesterday.”

Hosea opened the front door and whistled for Copper. The coonhound came bounding down the stairs and skidded to a stop on the porch, alert and nose already in the air. Hosea caught Annabelle’s gaze from where she sat in the parlor, and he swallowed before he spoke.

“We’re going to look for Arthur,”

She furrowed her brow in confusion. “Dutch said he was with Mary.”

“Well, Mary’s right here,” he replied, his tone laced with venom. “Dutch was wrong.”

Mary waited where she was as Hosea readied Silver Dollar for their ride into town. Once he’d knotted the girth strap around the ring, he walked his horse over to Mary and helped her on before settling into his saddle. She held on tightly as he urged the horse to a canter and whistled for Copper to follow.

“Where and when did you see him last?” Hosea asked over his shoulder.

“He walked me to my house yesterday evening,”

With her directions, they rode up to her house, where he let Silver Dollar rest for a moment. 

“Did you see which direction he went?” 

“I didn’t,”

He studied the street with a furrowed brow, calculating and weighing the different options that were at his feet. In the back of his mind, he could tangibly feel each second tick by. For all he knew, Arthur was in danger, hurt, or… He shook his head to rid himself of the thought. Time was of the essence, and it scared him to death that his present decisions had the potential to seal the course Arthur was on or worse.

Hosea turned in his saddle to face Mary. “Thank you. I’ll take it from here.”

She frowned. “No! I want to help!”

“I’m afraid this trail may lead us to some nasty business, and leading a fine young lady like you into that is the last thing I need on my conscience. You mean a lot to Arthur, and the man would never forgive me if you got hurt on my watch.”

Mary refused to move.

“Please, you will be the first to know if I find anything worth mentioning,”

She sat there for a moment longer before finally giving in with a sigh. “Alright.”

“Thank you,” he said as she dismounted. “We’ll find him.”

She nodded, and with that, Hosea decided to start his search at the tavern nearby. Knowing Arthur, he wouldn’t put it past him to have stopped by the establishment for a drink or two after parting ways with Mary. Hosea had planned to ask the bartender if he’d seen the young man, and it was as he was considering how to describe Arthur when the sight in front of the tavern robbed him of his train of thought.

Hitched outside was Boadicea, and he hastily dismounted once he’d neared the bar and patted her on the shoulder. The mare nickered as she looked at him, turning her head just enough for Hosea to pet her nose. He fed her an oatcake that she eagerly ate before eyeing the second floor of the building. Drawing a deep breath, he hitched Silver Dollar beside her and told Copper (several times to emphasize his command was not a suggestion) to sit and stay with the horses.

He stepped through the doors and headed straight for the bartender. The man behind the counter was a stocky gentleman sporting a thick mustache that curled upwards with his smile. He looked up at Hosea after opening a bottle of beer for a patron at the counter. 

“Can I help you, sir?”

“I hope so,” Hosea replied. “Are there rooms upstairs that you rent out?”

“There are, they’re only a dollar if you’d like one,”

“No, thank you,” he said. “I’m actually looking for my son. Did a young man with dark blond hair, blue eyes, about five-nine, purchase a room at all?”

The gentleman mulled it over a moment, his mustache losing the curve of his smile before shaking his head. “No, there’s only one room rented out, and it’s to a gentleman about your age.”

Hosea felt his chest grow tight at the news, and he thanked the bartender before leaving the tavern. He had only half expected Copper to listen to his command, and he wasn’t surprised when he didn’t find the dog where he’d left him. He swore under his breath before calling out for him. The hound appeared out from around the corner of the tavern, barked at him, then disappeared into the alley again. 

He frowned, drew a deep breath to gather himself, and followed the coonhound. There was a part of him that feared what he would find in the alley, yet his mind clouded with confusion when he only saw Copper. The dog started to bay repeatedly the instant his eyes landed on him. He barked again when Hosea didn’t move, running toward him before returning to where he’d stood. 

Hosea shushed him when the dog started to bay yet again and walked over to him. He knelt and studied the ground. There was a dark, rust-colored stain in the cement, and he felt his heart sink as he realized what it was. Copper’s whine pulled his attention away from the dried blood and lifted his eyes to find Arthur’s hat between his teeth.

Hosea felt the air leave his lungs all at once.

He swallowed hard and praised Copper as he stood and encouraged him to follow the trail. While he seemed to understand, they only made it halfway down the block before Copper whined and circled back several feet. His nose hovered over the ground, nearly touching it as he paced back to a row of three hitching posts. Hosea gave the coonhound a moment as he desperately searched for the scent. 

Hosea waited anxiously as the minutes passed, gripping Arthur’s hat tightly in his hands, and when Copper still hadn’t found the trail after almost thirty minutes, he quietly called the dog over to him. There was only one explanation for why the trail had disappeared as abruptly as it had. The hitching posts were the only clues he needed to deduce that Arthur had been taken. They mocked him with their hidden answers to his questions about Arthur's disappearance, and as he took a knee to praise the dog for trying his best, Hosea felt the dread in his gut settle like cement.

They returned to where he’d hitched the horses and tied Boadicea’s reins to his saddle. He looked up at the mare. It felt wrong seeing her without her loyal rider. The two had always been inseparable, and it didn’t sit right seeing one without the other. 

Hosea gingerly tucked the hat into a saddlebag, and as they made their way back to the farmhouse, Hosea felt his fear shift into something that could only be described as a bitter rage. He was furious with Dutch, and how the man had brushed off the boy’s absence so quickly like it was nothing, and had cost them precious time. Yet, while his anger burned hot toward Dutch, he was angrier with himself. He was also to blame for not searching for Arthur sooner, and for settling for Dutch’s half-assed reassurances. His gut had told him something had been wrong, and yet he had blatantly ignored it.

As much as he wanted to blame Dutch, he knew he was equally (if not more) accountable for whatever happened to Arthur, and the sound of Boadicea’s hooves behind him only intensified his misery. They sounded almost hollow as they rode back, painfully reminding Hosea of Arthur’s glaring absence.

He returned to find Dutch smoking on the porch, the warm light from inside the house casting a dark shadow across his worried face. Annabelle had told him the news as soon as Hosea had left. He had wanted to help Hosea with his search for Arthur, but he knew the older outlaw well enough to know that he had a boiling reservoir of anger reserved just for him.

When he caught sight of Hosea, he tossed his cigarette to the side as his eyes flitted nervously between Hosea and Arthur’s empty saddle. “Hosea, I—”

“I don’t want to hear it!” He barked as he dismounted and led the two horses to the barn. 

Dutch followed him on his heels. He refused to be dismissed that easily, especially when his nerves were so high. “Listen, if I had known—”

Hosea rounded on him. “You didn’t even give him the benefit of a doubt!”

His statement made him wince, and his stomach turned for the hundredth time that evening with shame and guilt. “Where is he?”

He opened his mouth, faltered, raised a shaky hand, then turned away. Dutch could hear his ragged breathing, and he felt the blood drain from his face as he waited for the news he dreaded to hear. He couldn’t recall a time he’d seen the older outlaw as beside himself as he was now. Dutch watched as his lip quivered for a split second before he drew a deep, shaky breath and lifted his grief-stricken gaze to meet his.

“I don’t know,”

Those three words hit Dutch harder than he thought they would. He wanted to believe that the boy had run away or had rented a room for the night. There wasn’t a single part of him that wanted to admit that Arthur wasn’t okay, but seeing Boadicea without her rider gave him no other choice but to face that reality.

“Is he…”

Hosea lowered his head as he squeezed his eyes shut. “I don’t know.”

“We’ll find him, Hosea,”

“And what if we don’t?”

Dutch hesitated before lifting his hands to cradle Hosea’s face, encouraging the man to look at him. “We will. I promise you I won’t rest until we do.” 

Arthur glared at the stick-thin O’Driscoll (who he’d found himself hating more and more) as he talked to a man who, even tied to the post of a dilapidated open-front shed thirty feet away, was unmistakably Colm. The man was no doubt filling him in on all that had happened that day, and Arthur felt his anger simmer as the two of them laughed. 

Yet, as much as he despised the O’Driscolls, he couldn’t help but utter a few curses towards himself. He’d had plenty of time to contemplate his situation, and in hindsight, he knew this could have been avoided if he’d simply told Dutch and Hosea about Colm. He was stupid for thinking the problem would simply vanish if he ignored it long enough, and Arthur knew he had no one to blame but himself for his current circumstances.

He shifted his weight and grimaced as his shoulders protested against the movement. While his arms were sore, he was thankful that the pain in his head had started to subside. Yet, the breeze that carried the savory aroma from the pot over the cook fire awakened the ache in his stomach, reminding him that he hadn’t eaten anything for almost twenty-four hours. Arthur closed his eyes in an attempt to ignore the hunger pangs but opened them hardly a minute later when he heard footsteps approaching him.

It was Colm with a bowl of what he assumed was stew in his hands. A smirk twisted his lips as he considered the state Arthur was in. He knelt beside him as he chuckled to himself. “That’s quite a shiner you’ve got there.”

Arthur scowled at him.

“You’re a mess. All that blood,” he tsked, “can’t be comfortable. Maybe there’s something we could do about that.”

He didn’t reply.

His smirk quirked higher as he held a spoonful of stew out to Arthur. “Surely, you must be hungry. Go on, have some.”

Arthur turned his head away.

Colm laughed. “No wonder Dutch took such a liking to you, you’ve got quite the iron will.” He crooned as he returned the spoon to the bowl. “You know, it don’t have to be like this. Dutch may have his charisma, but we ain’t so bad. My boys always have money in their pockets. They’re taken care of, and our heists always go according to plan.”

“Hosea said you were a cold-hearted killer,” he retorted.

“And you ain’t?” Colm asked as he straightened himself. “You’ve killed five of my men, shot two of them from _behind_. If you’re so convinced Hosea’s right, then maybe you ain’t fit to ride with them.”

He furrowed his brow and stared at the hitching posts to his right. While he refused to show it, Colm’s words had cut him to the quick. In the back of his mind, he couldn't help but wonder if he was right. He’d been nothing but trouble for the gang, and maybe it was better this way. Perhaps being taken was best for Dutch and Hosea. They deserved better, Mary too. 

Regardless of the frown he wore, Colm seemed to see right through the thin veneer. “Don’t worry, Arthur, we have a place here, saved just for you when you’re ready to join us.”

He closed his eyes as Colm walked away and rested his head against the post. Drawing a deep breath, he opened them again to study his surroundings for the umpteenth time. It was his fourth time counting the men around camp, and he found himself reaching a new number that was higher than before. He groaned. There was no way to know for certain just how many gang members were prowling the camp, and Arthur felt his throat grow tight at the thought. 

Escape felt near impossible. Getting himself out of his bonds was one thing, but sneaking out would be another. He’d be lucky if he was able to get away unscathed, yet he had to make it to that step first. Arthur gave an experimental tug on the rope binding his wrists together. When they didn’t give, he tried harder, twisting his wrists and arms and searching for any leeway. However, the rope held together, unrelenting as it dug into his skin.

Arthur swore under his breath, his mind racing to find any kind of solution that would free him. For a brief moment, it occurred to him that he could fake joining them, but he knew Colm wouldn’t be fooled. 

Getting out of the mess he’d gotten himself into seemed hopeless, and he felt his heart twist painfully in his chest. Hosea would’ve known what to do, same with Dutch. Yet neither of them was there to offer their wisdom. He was utterly alone and among men who would kill him without hesitation. Arthur was miserable with hunger and thirst, let alone the physical and emotional pain he was in.

He was kept outside through the night, where he shivered against his post. The temperature had dropped again, and with his arms tied behind his back, he could only do so much to keep himself warm in his button-up shirt and jeans. Arthur hardly got any sleep, which made the dawn’s light an unwelcomed sight when it came.

A few of the O’Driscolls were also early risers. Either that or they rose with the dawn just to set time aside to torment him.

Two men approached him with twisted grins on their faces, and Arthur instantly knew that they had nothing but trouble planned. He glared up at them as they stood on either side of him.

“Look at you,” one of them sneered. “You ain’t so tough. In fact, you’re what, sixteen? Hardly have a single scar on that pretty face of yours.”

Arthur narrowed his eyes. While he was thoroughly sick and tired of being repeatedly mistaken as younger than he was, he refused to waste his breath on the man. 

The other O’Driscoll, a broad-shouldered man with dark hair, frowned and fisted a hand in his collar. Arthur tensed as he was hauled onto his feet, feeling a few splinters from the post sink into his skin. “Weren’t you ever taught to speak when you’re spoken to, boy?” 

“Fuck you,” he spat. The curse earned him a heavy punch to his gut that sucked the air out of his lungs. Arthur wheezed, yet the fist in his shirt kept him from doubling over.

“You better mind your manners, sonny,” he growled. “Hell, you’re lucky Colm wants you kept _alive_, but the way I see it, you’re more trouble than you’re worth.”

“Fucking pain in the ass,” the other man added as he unsheathed the hunting knife on his gunbelt. “Think we should teach him a lesson by giving him his first scar, Conor? He’s already a bloody mess. Colm wouldn’t notice.”

“I don't see why not, Martin,” he let go of Arthur’s shirt and instead firmly held his face, forcing his head back against the post, “maybe he’ll learn to think before he speaks.”

As exhausted as he was, Arthur felt adrenaline surge through him. He struggled against the man to no avail as he saw him raise his knife. His heart pounded against his ribs as the man known as Martin closed in. They snickered at his straining.

“Where were you thinkin’?” Conor asked.

“I was thinking on his chin since he’s only ever opened his mouth to insult us,”

Conor’s grip shifted from his face to around his neck just underneath his jaw. As he squeezed, Martin slid the tip of his knife along his chin in two quick motions. Arthur winced, feeling the sharp pain fade for only a moment before a burning sensation took over. The two men laughed as they released him, and without thinking twice, Arthur lashed out by kicking Conor’s knee with the strength he could muster. 

The impact of it had him crying out in pain as he stumbled to the ground. A grin pulled at the corner of Arthur’s mouth at the sight, yet his amusement was short-lived as Martin cuffed him in the side of the head.

“The hell do you two think you’re doing?”

Despite the ringing in Arthur’s head, he recognized the voice as Colm’s. He looked up in time to see the gang leader roughly pull Conor onto his feet before smacking Martin. Arthur found it comical how his withering stare sent the two men on their way without another word. 

Colm cleared his throat and offered Arthur a smile that was anything but reassuring. His eyes were untouched by his cold grin, and it reminded him of the mask Dutch sometimes wore. “I’m sorry about that, my friend. They’ll be dealt with accordingly.”

He lifted his hand to examine the fresh, bleeding cuts on Arthur’s chin, but the young man lifted it out of his grasp as he glared at him. The small gesture of defiance made Colm smile wider, genuinely this time.

“How’s it feel?”

“I hardly feel it,”

He raised an eyebrow as he looked him over. “You changed your mind yet about the side you’re on?”

“No,”

“Pity,” he sighed. “It wouldn’t surprise me if tonight’s colder than the last.”

Arthur said nothing.

“You hungry yet?”

“No,”

“Thirsty?”

He shook his head.

“Come, now, I know you're lying. I thought Dutch had preached truth.”

"Some people don’t deserve to hear it,”

A brittle laugh escaped him. “I don’t know how the hell Dutch found someone as spirited and stubborn as you! He don’t know what to do with you if you ask me.”

Arthur’s brow furrowed in confusion at that.

“You’ve got real potential, and he’s letting it go to shit. You could be doing so much more, Arthur. Your name could have people trembling in their boots, have people fearing and respecting you.” He paused as he sized him up. “Tell me, Arthur, how many times have people underestimated you? I bet it’s too many to count. That wouldn’t happen with me. You’d be taken seriously with me. People would see you as the man that you are.”

It was a bald-faced lie if Arthur had ever seen one. Arthur was insulted that Colm thought he’d buy it, and he decided to show his contempt by lowering himself back to his place on the ground. He sat there, scowling up at Colm as he made himself as comfortable as he could get. 

He shook his head. "I don’t get what it is you see in Dutch. He’s the one that put you in this situation, after all.”

"Bullshit," Arthur spat.

"It's true," he said as he knelt to Arthur's level. "Haven't you wondered yet _how _I was finally able to find you? After all these years?"

He felt his mouth go dry.

Colm smirked at him. "I was at a bar when I overheard a gentleman complaining how he'd been robbed blind about a month ago. I bought him a drink, offered to listen to his woes, and as I'd expected, his description matched Dutch perfectly. 

"You see," he continued. "The funny thing about Dutch's charisma is that it ain't always his strong suit. It blinds him to the details, and it makes him hard to forget. A man with Dutch’s personality sticks to the mind. Thanks to Dutch’s carelessness, I knew that if my boys and I waited long enough, we'd find you.” He shrugged. “It was only a matter of time."

Arthur studied Colm, hoping to find that he was lying only to realize he was telling the truth. He felt his shoulders sag as his gaze lowered to his boots. Annabelle and Hosea had been right about the house robbery, and the thought twisted his stomach. The more the news sank in, the more difficult it was for him to breathe. 

“There’s more to the outlaw life than gallivanting wherever you please,” Colm straightened himself, “but you’re smart, you’ll come to your senses soon enough.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, this chapter turned out longer than I expected it to be 😅I'm so sorry!
> 
> I hope everyone is doing okay despite the world's current circumstances! <3


	17. "Hope" Is the Thing With Feathers

Duncan leaned against the cabin he shared with Colm as he stared hard at Arthur. They had yet to break him despite depriving him of food and water for three days. It frustrated Duncan, and he scowled at the boy who’d been the bane of his existence, and the source of his brother’s obsession, for the last few years. Colm’s plan to convince Arthur to join them wasn’t working, and in his opinion, harsher measures were far more convincing than mind games. 

“This is a feckin’ waste of time,” he muttered as he shifted his steely gaze to Colm. “If you ask me, I say we either kill him or ransom him. Hell, we could even torture him for information, but this? This is pointless!”

“Well, I _didn’t _ask you,” Colm retorted as he narrowed his eyes and looked up from the gun he was polishing. “Besides, we’ll get to that.”

“Not soon enough,” he muttered. “Shit, I bet he’d rather slit one of our throats than be offered a drink.”

“You just stick to shooting when you’re told to shoot, and you let me do the thinking! I’ll worry about Dutch’s boy, understand?” Colm snapped. 

“All I’m saying is he’s long overdue for some spilled blood,” he replied coldly. Most hostages that they took rarely survived the next morning, and keeping the boy around felt more like letting a rat live in their kitchen. 

Colm stood and stepped into his space. “If you so much as lay one finger on that boy without my say-so, _you’ll_ be the one tied to a post and spilling blood!”

Duncan didn’t move as he held his stare, and Colm didn’t wait for a reply before stalking over to where Arthur was. 

Arthur looked up as Colm’s heavy footsteps reached his ears. He watched vacantly as the man roughly pulled a nearby chair in front of him before sitting in it. The mean expression on his face didn’t faze him. Arthur didn’t even blink as he leaned into his face. 

“Listen, son. I’m _trying _to be kind, but you’re testing my patience!”

He held his silence.

Colm gritted his teeth as he snagged the collar of his shirt. “Well? I _know _you’ve got something to say! You ain’t the kind to stay silent for long.”

“I need to take a shit,”

He narrowed his eyes, and Arthur held his scrutinizing gaze. After staring him down for a long moment, he swore and rose to his feet before calling out to another man who was tending to a horse. He hesitated before making his way over to them.

"Escort the boy so he can relieve himself," Colm ordered.

The man frowned but held his tongue as he cut away the rope around the tree. As Colm walked away, Arthur was lifted to his feet by his arm. He winced as he tried to feel his legs again, feeling his stiff joints protest against the movement. While he tried his best not to show it, he could feel the dehydration taking its toll on him. He was exhausted, and his throat felt as rough as tree bark. Yet despite his physical exhaustion, he refused to give up. He'd spent the night concocting a plan, and he was hopeful that it would work.

He'd been through this routine with a few O'Driscoll's several times. The first time he'd been escorted to the edge of the camp, it was with three men, then two the next, and now one. They had let their guard down, and Arthur drew a deep breath, anticipating the moment he and the O’Driscoll would stop just short of a cluster of trees that was ahead. 

When they stopped, Arthur looked over his shoulder at the man. As he did, he used his peripheral to make sure no one else was watching them. "Well?" 

"Well, what?" The O'Driscoll spat as he folded his arms across his chest. "Just do your business and be done with it!"

"Ain't you gonna help me?" Arthur asked as he shifted his bound wrists for emphasis.

"Like hell, I'm going to help you!"

He frowned. "How the fuck do you expect me to do my business when I can't even get my own pants down!"

The man scowled at the implications of his statement before muttering under his breath and drawing his knife. "You make one wrong move, and I'll slit your throat! I don’t care what Colm says."

"Would you quit wastin’ time?" Arthur huffed. "The longer you take, the more--"

"Alright, just shut the hell up!" He snapped as he stepped forward. “I'll cut you free, but you better not get any ideas!”

Arthur didn’t say a word as the man cut the rope away, and once Arthur was certain his wrists were free, he rounded on the O’Driscoll. The man’s eyes flew wide as Arthur lunged at him, knocking him to the ground. The man’s threat had been an empty one, and despite Arthur’s weakened state, he still managed to keep the upper hand. He grunted with the effort it took to stay on top while the man tried to throw him off, and he scrambled to get a hold of the hunting knife. Arthur had finally ripped it out of the O'Driscoll's grasp when a shot rang through the air.

He froze as his eyes snapped up as he searched for the source of the sound. Arthur found Colm at the edge of camp, his revolver raised in his direction. Their stares locked, and time seemed to slow before Arthur felt an intense, fiery pain bloom in his right arm. He gasped, suddenly realizing he’d been holding his breath. His hand flew to his bicep, where he found his shirtsleeve already damp and warm. Instinctively, Arthur clenched the torn flesh tighter. 

Arthur couldn’t recall ever being shot before, and while it hurt, he knew the bullet had only grazed him. Still, it stunned him. He dared to glance at the damage where he found his arm soaked in crimson. The blood drained from his face at the sight, and he forced himself to draw a shaky breath to get a hold of himself. 

While Arthur was stunned, the O’Driscoll beneath him swiftly took advantage of the distraction. While the man had been struggling earlier, it was effortless to change their positions. Arthur lost his grip on the knife as he was forced onto his back, and his eyes flew wide as he felt the O’Driscoll’s calloused hands seize his neck. He writhed underneath him in an attempt to get free, and his hands clamped around the man’s wrists as he felt a growing pressure cut off his airway. 

It was as his vision began to tunnel when he finally heard Colm call the man off, nearly shoving him off Arthur. His burning lungs forced him to take a deep, wheezy breath as soon as the pressure disappeared. He felt tears brim in his eyes and hated it. It left him feeling like a child, and it was a reminder that he had miserably failed to escape. 

Arthur didn’t have the chance to linger on the thought when Colm snagged him by his shirt and hauled him onto his feet. The gang leader was seething with rage as he practically dragged him back into the camp with the barrel of his revolver pressed underneath his chin. 

Fear gripped him when they passed his post, tying his stomach into a tight knot. He’d never been anywhere else inside the camp before, and Colm’s fury combined with that fact had him dreading what he had planned for him.

Arthur was dragged over to a barn, and they stopped beside a water trough that was against one of its walls. Colm used the fist in his shirt to force him to hover over the water before seizing the hair at the back of his head. He winced as a few strands were pulled loose, and with a nod, Colm signaled for someone else to tie Arthur’s hands behind his back once again.

Arthur stared at the murky water as his breathing grew thin.

“I’d say it’s about time we washed that blood off your face, don’t you?” Colm asked with a sneer.

A heavy silence had settled in the dining room since Hosea and Dutch's return. Annabelle furrowed her brow as she reconsidered the thought. The silence, she realized, had made its home within the walls of their farmhouse since Hosea had told her, in so many words, that Arthur was missing. Hosea and Dutch had spent the last two days searching as strategically as they could despite not having any leads. They’d spent the first day searching North of Milwaukee, and they had just finished searching the land that lay east. Dutch had pulled Hosea away from the search to rest briefly before heading west. 

However, neither of them touched much of the food on their plates. Instead, they drank their coffee without a word, faces dark with grim expressions. They hadn’t found any sign of Arthur, and to describe Hosea as dismayed would’ve been an understatement. He sat in his chair with his head bowed, absentmindedly opening and closing his pocket watch. The soft click of it filled the room, and Dutch sighed as it continued. 

Had the circumstances been any different, Dutch would’ve told him to knock it off. Yet, as much as the incessant clicking annoyed him, he chose to hold his tongue. There were more significant problems at hand, and some battles just weren’t worth fighting. Dutch didn’t even think he had the energy for it anyway. Sleep had been a rare occurrence as of late, and the house felt empty with Arthur gone. His absence left a void that couldn’t be filled, and while none of them voiced it, there was the fear that Arthur wouldn’t be found.

Hosea clasped his pocket watch one final time before he abruptly rose from his seat without a word and left the room. The backdoor opened before it was slammed shut, and Dutch silently followed after him shortly after.

Outside, Dutch found Hose lighting a cigarette, and he waited until the end was steadily smoldering to say anything. “Are you alright?”

The older outlaw turned to face him, a deep frown between his brows. “Am I alright? Our boy is God knows where, and you’re asking me if I’m alright?”

“Hosea—”

“We don’t know shit about where he is or if he’s okay, and there’s nothing we can fucking do about it!”

“We’re going to find him,”

“Sure,” Hosea scoffed bitterly to himself. “You know, I'm starting to wonder if we’re fooling ourselves.”

“It’s only been three days, Hosea,”

“A lot can happen in three days,”

Dutch heaved a sigh. “We’re going to find that boy even if it kills me, I promise.”

He lifted his anguished gaze as he took a long drag on his cigarette. There were dark circles under his eyes, and Dutch was sure he wore a pair that matched. “Don’t make promises you can’t keep.”

He eyed him. “You’re giving up? Where’s your faith?”

“I’m not giving up, Dutch, I’m just being realistic,” he replied. “I've already lost one child. If I keep my hopes up, and it turns out that you're wrong, I don't think I'd be able to recover from that.”

Dutch searched for the right words to say as Hosea whistled for his horse. Yet he found nothing, and instead, he told Hosea that he would tell the women that they were heading out to start their search again.

Annabelle rose from her seat to watch them from the window as they followed the path west. Her brow then furrowed as a thought crossed her mind, and she turned to face Susan and Bessie. Bessie had her head in her hands as Susan rubbed her back, whispering words of encouragement to her. Annabelle sucked in a breath at the sight and made her way over to the other side of Bessie. 

While Bessie hadn’t talked much about Arthur’s disappearance, Annabelle instinctively knew she had been striving to be strong for Hosea. Yet, it was clear now how doing so had been wearing her down. She had confessed to both of them a long while ago all that had happened while she and Hosea were gone, and Annabelle wished she could do more than squeeze her hand and tell her that she was sorry.

They sat beside her for a while before Annabelle finally spoke. “Mary should know what’s going on. I’m going to head into the city to tell the poor girl.”

Susan nodded. “We’ll stay here in case Arthur comes back.”

Annabelle offered them a small smile as she stood. “I won't be gone long.”

It didn’t take her much time to saddle up her chestnut Arabian, and it was almost a shame how nice the day was. The night’s chill was now long gone, and the breeze kept the sun’s rays from being too warm. 

She found her way to Mary’s house using what she remembered from the time Arthur had asked for Annabelle to deliver a letter to her when she’d ridden into town for supplies. It was just short of a miracle that she’d made it to Mary’s house without getting lost, and she studied the house before dismounting. While she had willingly volunteered to pass along what news they had, she wasn’t sure what she would say.

Drawing a deep breath, she gathered herself and made her way to the front door. In the last few years, she’d heard plenty from Arthur about the girl’s father. Of course, there was a part of her who assumed he’d been exaggerating, but when he opened the door, it occurred to her that most of his descriptions of the man matched. There was a look in his eye she’d seen at card tables in saloons, and she could smell the alcohol on his breath. 

“Who are you?” He slurred. 

“I’m a friend of Mary’s,” she replied. “Is she home?”

His eyes narrowed as he studied the street behind her as if searching for someone else. When he was satisfied that no one else was there, he nodded to himself and gruffly called for Mary.

The man left the doorway to let Mary take his place, and her face paled when her eyes met Annabelle’s. “Annabelle?” Her eyes searched for Arthur’s horse, fearing the worst. “Is something wrong?”

Annabelle lowered her eyes for the briefest of moments before meeting her questioning gaze. “Mind if we walk?”

While Mary nodded, she felt her chest tighten as they walked down the sidewalk. She didn’t speak as she waited for Annabelle to divulge whatever news she had. There was a part of her that knew Annabelle was weighing her words, and while she felt she might burst with impatience, Mary was grateful for her tact.

They stopped to sit on a bench, and Mary found herself waiting for her to speak with bated breath.

“The night you came by, Hosea found Arthur’s hat and horse by the tavern. He and Dutch have been searching for him since, but,” she took a deep breath, “they haven’t found much of anything. I’m sorry, Mary.”

The news was like a slap to the face, and it was a while before she found her words again. “What do you mean they haven’t found much of anything?”

Annabelle felt her heart twist in her chest, torn between deciding to be vague or blunt. “It means that we have reason to believe that he’s been taken somewhere.”

She looked away as her lungs hitched, staring hard at the brick building across the street. Yet, it surprised Annabelle when she steeled herself and looked at her again. “How can I help?”

Annabelle blinked, momentarily stunned. “I’m afraid there’s not much you can do. The only thing I can think of is letting us know if you hear anything from him, and if we have any news at all, we’ll be sure to pass it along.”

She nodded as she fidgeted with her hands.

“I’m sorry for the awful news, but I thought you should know,”

“Thank you,”

Annabelle studied her, noting that the sadness in her eyes seemed as if it’d been there for a while. “There’s something else bothering you.” She knew it was a shot in the dark, but she figured there wasn’t much at risk by asking it.

Her brows pulled tightly together at the question as her eyes flitted to the cement. “It’s my mother. She’s getting worse, and I’m afraid she won’t live much longer.”

She reached out for her hand and squeezed it gently. “I’m so sorry, Mary. If there is anything we can do for you and your family, anything at all, please don’t hesitate to let us know.”

“I will,”

“I’m serious,” Annabelle added firmly. “You need anything, at all, you let us know.”

All she could do was nod. Annabelle’s sincerity was overwhelming, and to know there was someone outside her family who was looking out for her was reassuring. Mary cleared her throat as she rose to her feet. “Thank you again, for everything.”

A wheezy cough left Arthur wincing. It made his burning throat hurt all the more, and he shifted in the old hay he was sitting in. The O’Driscolls had moved him inside the barn where he could be watched more closely. It stunk worse than other barns he’d been in as if something had made its home among the mounds of molding hay and died. 

He leaned against the barn post and closed his eyes. Arthur wouldn’t be surprised if he ended up contributing to the rotting smell of the creature’s corpse with his own. He was now under the constant watch of a few O’Driscolls, which left him losing all hope of escape. Although, perhaps death wouldn’t be so bad. It would relieve him from the pain that radiated throughout his body and the fresh throbbing in his arm from where Colm’s bullet had grazed him. 

A shiver interrupted his thoughts. While Colm had nearly drowned him several hours ago, his shirt still clung damply to his skin. He had been moved inside the barn after the experience, and Arthur was convinced that it had been purely strategic. Staying cold and wet was a kind of torture all on its own, and he frowned as he tried to make himself as comfortable as he could in light of his circumstances. 

Arthur shifted his arms and winced as something sharp caught his wrist. He quietly hissed out a string of curses before he froze. Slowly, he straightened himself and carefully searched for the sharp object. His fingers eventually found it, though not without cutting himself again. He felt around the object, blindly getting a feel for it before he felt his heart leap into his throat. 

It was a nail that jutted out from the post.

The realization took his breath away. His find was a godsend if he’d ever had one. His heart pounded against his ribs, feeling his hope rekindle all at once. He swallowed as his eyes flicked to the O’Driscoll that stood at the barn’s entrance, and it was only when the man’s back was turned that he covered up his discovery with the hay that he could reach. 

Yet, despite the thrill that ran through him, Arthur knew this was his last and only chance to escape, and his time was still counting down. He had no doubt that Colm had worse things planned for him the next day, and he knew he had to be strategic with what strength he had before it diminished any more.

He coughed again without meaning to, and it made him grateful that he’d hidden the nail when he had. The O’Driscoll by the entrance turned to scowl at him, and Arthur fought the urge to return the nasty look. He’d have to play out his plan like a game of chess, and he made a mental note to thank Dutch later for forcing him to play the game and learning the rules.

It did occur to him, however, that the cough that had settled in his waterlogged lungs had the potential to complicate his escape. The thought only confirmed that he’d have to make his break for freedom that night. There wasn’t a doubt in his mind that his cough would only get worse with time, and it left his mind spinning the rest of the evening as he took in as much as he could of the campsite from where he sat.

Arthur spent the evening observing the O’Driscolls closer than he ever had before. He started more headcounts than he had in the last few days and mentally mapped out the parts of camp that he could see and hear. He could hear the snorts and soft whinnies of horses just around the barn behind him, and the main campfire was a little ways from the barn in the opposite direction. It was the second-best news he’d discovered that day. All he had to do was sneak his way over to the hitching posts. Walking quietly on the hay would be a challenge of its own, but Arthur figured he’d be able to manage it if everything else lined up. 

Arthur waited until the night sky was a dark velvet and dappled with stars. There was no moon, which made the darkness thick and unyielding. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the O’Driscoll standing guard yawn. He drew a deep breath as his fingers brushed away the hay from the nail and carefully began his attempt to cut himself free. 

It was an arduous process, and he had to bite his lip as the nail dug into his skin several times. Eventually, the rope around his wrists loosened, and Arthur managed to wriggle his hands out of his bonds.

He froze as the man at the barn’s entrance shifted, and he furrowed his brow as the man disappeared around the corner. Yet he released the breath he was holding when he realized the man was simply relieving himself. 

He rose to his feet as quietly as he could manage, pausing for a moment to let a wave of vertigo pass over him. When he finally felt steady, he crept his way towards the entrance and around the opposite corner. He found the horses there as expected, and he refrained from breathing a sigh of relief as he carefully eased his way over to a Morgan that was curiously watching him. Arthur smiled at the horse as he whispered a few hushed words to her before tentatively patting her shoulder. The horse merely snorted, and once Arthur was sure the mare was relaxed and calm, he unhitched her reins and pulled himself into the saddle with shaky arms. 

It took all of his strength to keep from crying out as the wound in his arm reopened with the effort, and he grimaced as he dug his heels into her sides to get the mare walking. Once they were out of hearing distance of the camp, he nudged her harder to get her galloping down the path. 

As he moved with the mare, he couldn’t help the relief that washed over him as he fled from the O’Driscoll camp. While he wasn’t sure where he was going, he found that he couldn’t care less. He was finally free, had finally managed to escape on his own, and was flying down the path. 

It was only after riding at that pace for nearly ten minutes when Arthur finally eased up and slowed the Morgan to a walk. As the mare’s breath evened, he took a moment to study his surroundings. While there wasn’t much he could make of the path or the trees, he was grateful for the clear sky. Thanks to Hosea, the blanket of stars above him was the only compass he needed. The older outlaw had spent one of their hunting trips teaching him how to use the stars as a compass. He hadn’t known it then, but it was that very lesson that had become his saving grace, and it only took him a brief moment to find the north star. Yet looking up brought another wave of vertigo, and he squeezed his eyes shut as he waited for the dizzy spell to pass.

With a deep breath, he glanced down at his arm to find the wound was still bleeding from when he’d pulled himself into the saddle. He looped the reins around the saddlehorn and tore a strip of cloth from his shirt before wrapping it tightly around his arm. Using his teeth, he managed to tie a knot and returned his eyes to the path ahead. There was a road that forked off to the right, one that would take him exactly north from where he was. 

As he rode down the path, it was a battle to keep his eyes open. He was utterly exhausted in every way, yet he couldn’t stop. Arthur had no doubt that the O’Driscolls had discovered his disappearance not long after he escaped, and he couldn’t risk stopping. He was convinced that they were searching for him, and he needed all the distance he could get to put between them.

Arthur continued to follow both the stars and occasional road signs along the way, and it was only after he passed a sign for Genoa City when he was able to grasp where he was.

His ride back to the farmhouse had been a long one, and he was surprised that he was able to stay in his saddle the entire time. The morning light was shining brightly by the time he arrived, and the quaint old building was a sight for sore eyes. Tears threatened to spill from his eyes at the relief that washed over him. Arthur had thought, albeit for only a moment, that he’d never see it again. 

He was finally home. 

Arthur guided the horse to the steps of the front porch, where he tried to dismount. Yet, he hadn’t considered how much strength he’d lost between blood loss and sleep deprivation. He was dehydrated and malnourished, and what he intended to be a smooth dismount turned into him tumbling to the ground. Arthur winced as the wind was sucked out of him, and his attempt to take in a wheezy breath turned into a coughing fit. He groaned in between coughs, struggling to breathe despite his pain and spasming lungs.

The sound of the door opening, however, had him forgetting his pain, and seeing Hosea’s face was too good to be true.

“Arthur!” He exclaimed as his wide eyes looked him over. Hosea couldn’t recall a time when Arthur looked as weak as he did now. His face was pallid, and he looked like death warmed over. His shirt was a bloodstained mess, his face bruised and cut, and the bloodied, makeshift bandage around his arm only reignited his fear. Arthur may have returned alive, but he was far from being out of the woods. “My God, you look…”

“You don’t look so good yourself, old man,” he replied as a tired grin pulled at the corner of his mouth.

He frowned, although he couldn’t hold it for long before he smiled and pulled Arthur into his arms. With a grunt, Hosea lifted him from the ground and brought him inside. 

The sounds that reached Arthur’s ears after that were nothing more than a muffled garbling of voices. It was as if he was underwater, yet he didn’t care. Being in Hosea’s arms was the first time in four days he’d felt safe and warm, and all at once, the tension left him as he was pulled into a deep sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for showering this fic with as much love as you have ;; there are no words to express my appreciation <3
> 
> Also the title for this chapter is taken from one of my favorite Emily Dickinson poems! :D


	18. Feet on the Ground, Head in the Sky

After three days of searching, there was still no sign of Arthur, and Hosea had nearly lost all hope. As he sat on the settee, he stared at the pattern knitted into the rug and tried to force himself to come to terms with that fact. Arthur had left their lives as quickly as he’d come into them, and the weight of that thought was crushing. His time with them had lasted about as long as a burning match, and Hosea found himself bitterly wondering if he and Dutch had done more harm than good by taking the boy in.

Hosea ran a hand over his face before glancing at the door. Dutch had gone out to continue his search for Arthur. Unlike him, the man was holding onto hope with tight fists and was determined to keep his promise. It was foolish of him, in Hosea’s opinion, but he was grateful for Dutch’s blind determination nonetheless. 

A loud thump from outside startled him. With his hand resting on his revolver, he stood and froze as he peered out the window. 

It was Arthur.

Hosea felt his lungs seize at the sight as he ran outside. The young man was uncontrollably coughing in the dirt, and Hosea didn’t waste any time to bring him inside. The women had been sitting at the dining table chatting over coffee when he’d stepped through the door with Arthur in his arms. He had already lost consciousness, and they were quick to jump into action as Susan and Hosea got him up the stairs and into his room.

Arthur remained unconscious as Hosea and Susan spent the next several hours tending to his wounds. The young man was in rough shape, and Hosea tried not to let his thoughts linger on the rope burns around his wrists nor any of his other injuries. There was no question that whoever had taken him had not been kind. His breathing was shallow, and Hosea could tell he’d been deprived of both food and water. 

It was after they’d disinfected and treated the gash on his right bicep and cuts along his wrists when they tried to wake him. Arthur, however, was nearly dead to the world. It was a sight Hosea could barely handle, causing a tightness to settle in his chest as they decided to try again within the next hour.

Hosea wore a grim expression as he ran his fingers through Arthur’s tangled hair, gently smoothing out the knots as he did. He wished with his entire being that he could take Arthur’s pain away and that he could take his place instead. There was a part of him that didn't want to know the details of Arthur's suffering. Yet, he couldn't ignore the fury festering underneath the surface. Whoever had done this to Arthur would have hell to pay. Hosea was sure of that.

He pressed his forehead to Arthur’s, feeling the heat radiating off the young man’s skin. His fever had worsened over the hour, and Hosea could hear his strained breathing. The discovery only provided more kindling for Hosea’s fears, and he pressed his lips to Arthur’s temple before lifting his head and resting his elbow on the bed. 

Susan studied Hosea as she squeezed out a fresh cloth and placed it on Arthur’s forehead. The man sat in his chair with his head in his hand, and it briefly flitted through her mind that he didn’t seem relieved in the slightest by Arthur’s return. He wore a deep frown as he massaged his brows, and he only pulled his hand away to examine Arthur’s condition for the umpteenth time.

“Why don’t you get something to eat, Hosea? I’ll look after him.”

He shook his head. “I’m not hungry.”

“You haven’t had much since—”

“I’m not leaving his side until he wakes up,”

“Then _you_ make sure this stays on his forehead while _I _get us some food,” she replied before leaving the room. 

Hosea couldn’t help but smile at her persistence. Oftentimes, he was sure that it was Susan who kept the gang running the way it did. While Dutch was a natural leader with his eloquence and charisma, Susan was the oil who kept the cogs turning, and Hosea realized he would never quite have the words to express his appreciation for her. Regardless of Dutch’s flighty affections, they were lucky to have found her after Kettering.

He ran his fingers through Arthur’s hair again and continued to do so until Susan eventually returned with a tray that held an assortment of food, water, and salves. Hosea eyed it before his gaze shifted to her. He watched as she sat in a chair on the other side of the bed and removed the damp rag from Arthur’s forehead before replacing it with a fresh one, using the old one to gently dab his neck. It wasn’t lost on him how she’d brought up more than what the two of them needed, and for a moment, he dared to allow hope to make its home once again somewhere in his chest.

“You think he’ll wake up soon?” 

Susan hesitated, mulling over his question as she continued her attempt at making Arthur more comfortable. After a moment, she pressed her lips into a thin line and shook her head. “I can’t say for sure, but that’s what I’m hoping.” She sighed. “And to think it was only a month ago when I was convinced I’d lose my mind after being stuck in the house with him for so long.”

Hosea forced a chuckle at that. “I have to admit he was quite a handful during all that snow.”

“Boy damn near lost his mind being cooped up like that!” 

“He’s not the kind who enjoys sitting around, that’s for sure,”

Susan smiled at Arthur as she lightly brushed the back of her fingers against the uninjured side of his face. “He learned it from both you and Dutch. Hell, _neither _of you can stand doing nothing for long!”

“What can I say, idleness is a luxury we can’t afford,”

“Whatever helps you sleep at night,” she smirked as she offered him a cup of coffee that was on the tray.

He gladly took it, and after taking a sip, he placed it on Arthur’s desk. “His fever has gotten worse.”

Susan’s brow furrowed at that, her eyes briefly flitting to meet his before returning to Arthur. “Then, let’s hope he wakes up soon so we can get something in him.”

What was left unspoken hung in the air, and Hosea sighed as he watched Arthur’s chest rise and fall, willing him to keep fighting. He dreaded the thought of having to bury another child. Arthur might've been a young man, but in Hosea’s eyes, he was still so young, too young to have experienced all the suffering he’d endured. Part of him wondered when Dutch would return, and if he would return too late. If he did, Hosea knew he’d be the one who would have to break the news to him despite how much it would pain him to do so. 

Despite how hard Hosea tried to stifle his grim thoughts, his mind lingered on them nonetheless. The troubling scenarios that were all too likely continued to plague him, and it was with bitter amusement that he realized he could use a few shots of good whiskey.

His fears, however, were proven to be nothing but nightmarish imaginings when Arthur finally blinked open his eyes. Relief poured over Hosea like a long-awaited summer rain. A wide smile stretched across his tired face as he ran his fingers through Arthur’s hair. It was mostly smooth by now, his fingers catching on only a few tangles due to carding through his hair earlier. Arthur visibly relaxed at the touch, practically leaning into Hosea’s hand as much as his battered body would allow. Yet, the young man frowned up at him, confusion clouding his eyes.

“Hosea?”

He swallowed as he blinked back the tears brimming in his eyes. Hosea couldn’t recall a time when Arthur’s voice had sounded as small and hoarse as it did now, and his heart was half broken, and half elated to hear his voice again. For right now, Arthur was okay. “I’m here.”

Arthur’s frown deepened, his expression shifting into a look of dismay. “Shit, I’m dreamin’, ain’t I?”

“No, son, you’re home. I don’t know how you did it, but you somehow found your way back home.”

Susan gently wiped her eyes with her fingertips before squeezing Arthur’s hand. “I’ll be back. I’m going to tell the others you’re awake.”

Hosea continued to smooth his hair as she left before he helped Arthur sit up and handed him a glass of water. He waited until he’d had his fill before he spoke again. "We found Bo' and your hat by the tavern, and we tried searching for you every day. What happened, Arthur?”

He shifted his weight, and as brief as it was, Hosea couldn’t help but catch the way he winced. Arthur could see the concern shining vividly in the older outlaw’s eyes, and he chuckled nervously to himself in an attempt to lighten the conversation. “What happened? I s’pose I learned that O’Driscolls are stubborn as hell but dumber than rocks.”

While Arthur had hoped his comment would amuse Hosea, the man’s eyebrows only drew more tightly together. “_What?_”

Arthur shifted his gaze to avoid Hosea’s penetrating eyes. He sighed, which awakened the cough he remembered having, and realized he had no choice but to come clean. “I ran into Colm a few times while you were gone with Bessie. He wanted me to join him, but I thought nothing of it. And those two robbers I killed? They were O’Driscolls who tried to take me. Guess this time they realized they’d need four of them to get the job done.”

Hosea blinked, stunned for a solid five seconds, and at a loss for words. The silence was heavy between them as he processed what Arthur both had and hadn’t said. “Arthur, where were you for the last few days?”

He shrugged. “Somewhere in Illinois, I think, south of Genoa.”

His eyes narrowed. “You know that’s not what I mean.”

Arthur closed his eyes as he brought his left hand up to his face, but winced as his fingers brushed against the bruise that was only just starting to yellow around the edges. He muttered under his breath before he answered. “I was taken to Colm’s camp.”

Hosea examined the cuts and contusions on Arthur’s body, feeling his anger burn hot, knowing that Colm was to blame for his injuries. Yet, he was careful not to show it as his eyes flicked up to Arthur’s face again. The young man refused to meet his gaze, his fingers toying with a fraying end of the sheet covering him. Hosea swallowed and steeled himself for his next question. “What did he do, Arthur?”

Arthur seemed to shrink in on himself, reminding Hosea of the nights he’d spent comforting the boy after a nightmare when he was younger. 

Hosea reached out to hold his hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze. “It’s okay, he can’t hurt you anymore, but in order to help you, we need to know if you’re hurt in a way we can’t see.”

He drew a deep breath and grimaced as he coughed. “They hit me a few times, which is nothing new. I've had worse. Colm tried to give me things to eat and drink, but I refused, and when I first tried escaping, he pulled me over to a water trough and, well, I’m sure you can figure out the rest.”

Arthur was right, and while Hosea was furious with Colm, he was relieved that his cough wasn’t a symptom of infection as they had first thought. “How did you manage to escape?”

“They left me in a barn after that, and even with my rotten luck, I found an exposed nail in the post I was tied to. When the guard left to take a piss, I cut myself free and snuck out to the hitching posts.”

Hosea beamed as he leaned forward to press his lips to Arthur’s temple. While Arthur’s situation wasn't by any means ideal or desired, he couldn’t help the swell of pride in his chest at Arthur’s cleverness. “I’m so proud of you, Arthur. You did that all on your own and got yourself out there using that clever head of yours.”

A shy smile pulled at the corner of Arthur’s mouth as he looked away. “It was nothin’.”

He snorted. “Nothing, my ass!”

He chuckled at that before looking around the room. “Where’s Copper?” 

“He’s outside your door. Pup’s been waiting there since we brought you up here.”

“Can you let him in?” 

Even if he tried, Hosea couldn’t deny him the simple request. Arthur’s sincere blues were practically begging him to say yes, and with an amused nod, he rose from his chair and opened his bedroom door. Copper nosed his way through the door, impatiently forcing the door open and happily whining as he ran over to Arthur’s side. Arthur braced himself for the dog to leap onto the bed, but Hosea’s stern command for the dog to sit kept Copper on the floor. The young man smiled from ear to ear as he petted Copper with his left hand, and Hosea had opened his mouth to speak when he heard the front door downstairs open and close.

Judging by the footsteps alone, he could tell it was Dutch who had finally returned. Hosea overheard Susan inform Dutch about Arthur as well as all that had happened that morning, and Hosea lingered in the doorway as he heard them hastily climb the stairs. He stepped out of the way as Dutch hurried past him to see Arthur. His stunned look was quickly replaced with a wide smile as he happily greeted the boy. Hosea leaned against the doorframe as the two of them chatted, and he couldn’t help the grin that twisted his lips when Dutch cradled Arthur’s face so he could plant a kiss on his forehead.

Arthur took it with a forced smile as he let Dutch and Susan shower him with a degree of affection that he was unfamiliar with. Sure, each gang member had their own way of expressing how much they cared about him, but Dutch rarely showed it through physical affection, at least never quite like this. It left him reeling and wondering just how much of a fright he’d given his found family. Not once had he been away for so long, and as he recalled the night he’d been taken, it occurred to him how quickly it had all unraveled.

After a while, he heard Hosea clear his throat from where he stood. Dutch released his face, and Arthur could tell by their exchanged glance that whatever conversation was in store would be anything but cordial. With a nod towards the door from Hosea, the two of them stepped out of the room and made their way down the steps. 

When they reached the main floor, Hosea suggested that Annabelle and Bessie see Arthur before he used all the energy he had. They didn’t need to be told twice, and once Hosea heard the floorboards beneath Arthur’s room creak with their entrance, he sighed and turned to Dutch. “I asked him what happened.”

“Well, what did he say?” He asked. “He looks like hell! I swear when I find the bastards who did that to him, I’m gonna—”

“It was Colm, Dutch,”

Dutch was struck silent, and for a brief moment, Hosea swore he saw guilt flash behind his eyes. “What?”

“Some O’Driscolls kidnapped him, took him to their camp, and tortured him,” he explained. “You never told me he had another run-in with Colm.”

A deep frown settled between his brows, disliking the implications behind Hosea’s words. “Now wait just a minute, I knew about that as much as you did!”

Hosea’s eyes narrowed. “And what of the two robbers being O’Driscolls, did you know that?”

“No, he never said they were anything of the sort!” Dutch retorted, his tone strained and exasperated. The audacity Hosea had on him was downright infuriating, and Dutch had to draw a deep breath through his nose to calm himself. He had just returned from spending hours searching for Arthur alone. What right did Hosea have to question him? After all, it was Hosea who had left them for nearly a year, thinking he could leave the gang and return on a whim without any repercussions. 

Keeping his tone even was a struggle as the last thing he wanted was to keep Arthur awake with their arguing. “Would I really withhold that kind of information from you?”

“I’m afraid I don’t know the answer to that one,” Hosea replied tersely. “As I recall, the last time Arthur nearly lost his life, you said that it was up to _him _when to share that with me.”

He frowned. “You’re acting as if this is _my _fault!”

Hosea folded his arms across his chest and looked away.

The simple gesture stunned him and knowing Hosea believed he was to blame pierced his heart. It hurt him to think his oldest friend would ever assume such a thing. He’d been trying his best to be the leader they thought he was, and while Hosea tended to see through that veneer, it wasn’t like him to actually doubt Dutch’s goodwill. 

It was no secret that Colm wanted what he had. Arthur was hardly twenty and already able to hold his own in more ways than one. He was resourceful and clever, and had Dutch known that any of the men Arthur encountered were O’Driscolls, he would’ve taken the appropriate measures to keep him safe. It was his responsibility, and it felt unjust that Hosea was blaming him for something that had been out of his control. 

“You really think it is, don’t you?” He finally asked.

“That’s not what I said,”

“No,” he scoffed. “It’s just what you think!”

Hosea heaved a sigh and leaned against the wall as he pinched the bridge of his nose. “It’s not what I think, either, Dutch. Perhaps for a brief moment, I considered it, but I can’t fault you for what Arthur never told you.”

Dutch raised an eyebrow, doubting his words.

“Listen,” he said quietly. His voice was hardly more than a whisper, and for a brief moment, Hosea looked twice his age. “I’ve been close to my wits’ end for the last few days, thinking we’d either find nothing or a corpse. I know you're not the one to blame for any of this, but I can’t help myself from wondering if there’s anything we could’ve done to prevent all of this.”

Dutch's indignation dissipated at his confession, and he shook his head as he took a step closer to him. “Hosea, these things happen sometimes. We live a risky life. You know that as well as I do, and Arthur ain’t any more immune to it than you or I. That’s just how it is.”

“Then why do I feel responsible for what happened?”

Dutch squeezed his shoulder as he offered a reassuring smile. “Because you care about him. I feel it too, but we have to remind ourselves of what’s true. Hell, we can’t keep him locked up here forever, for his sake as well as our own!”

That brought a small smile to Hosea’s face. “You’re right.”

“Look, the boy’s awake and doing fine. Why don’t you take care of yourself and get some sleep?”

Hosea simply nodded. It was then that he truly felt how exhausted he was, and he watched Dutch climb the stairs before heading down the hall to his bedroom.

Arthur examined his reflection in the mirror above his desk. It had been ten days since he’d escaped the O’Driscoll camp and the contusions that painted the left side of his face, while yellowing, still had patches of violet in them. The cuts on his chin, at least, had fully scabbed over by now, and the gash where Colm’s bullet had grazed his arm was now giving him less trouble than before. He could pull himself up onto Boadicea without opening the wound, and his lungs were feeling clearer by the day. 

He ran his fingers through his hair, smoothing the strands that were still damp from his bath. Drawing a deep breath, he glanced down at the petite ring beside his journal. He had gone out and bought it two days ago. Arthur had patiently waited for Hosea and Miss Grimshaw to let him make a trip into town on his own to the jeweler he’d been meaning to visit. His recent, sober reminder that life was far too short and fragile was all the motivation he needed to finally stop by. However, the only ring he’d been able to buy was hardly more than a gold band. The ruby that was set in the metal was smaller than a ladybug, but despite its diminutive nature, Arthur knew without a doubt that the ring he’d chosen was the one. 

Arthur’s eyes flicked up to meet his own once more, silently noting once again how different they seemed. He couldn’t put his finger on it, but something had changed. It was subtle, and in his journal, he’d called it a shift, although a shift in what, he wasn’t sure. All he knew was that, underneath the surface, something was different. It was a fact he tried to ignore, and he shook his head before tucking the ring into his vest pocket and left the room. 

He said goodbye to Bessie and Annabelle, who were in the front parlor before heading outside to where Boadicea and the Morgan were. Arthur put their respective tack on them, and after tying the mare’s reins to his saddle, he mounted his horse and set out towards Mary’s house.

The ride felt shorter than it usually was, and Arthur blamed it on his nerves. His stomach felt tighter than it ever had before, and his heart was racing faster than a rabbit on the run. He ran his fingers through his hair once more before dismounting, recalling how he’d looked in the mirror earlier. Arthur knew he looked rough despite his attempt to look presentable, and while he knew he should delay what he was planning, he was too stubborn to back out now. Mary deserved something better, but at the same time, she needed to know and see the very real dangers of his life. Running with the gang was the last thing from cushy or secure, and what had happened to him was a risk that wasn’t as unlikely as he’d once thought.

He made his way to the front door and knocked, and it wasn’t until his chest felt tight that he realized he was holding his breath. Arthur flinched when the door swung open abruptly, finding Mr. Gillis standing in the doorway. His face was more splotchy than usual as he swayed on his feet, a telltale sign that his drinking habits had escalated. While it wasn’t unusual to find Mr. Gillis tipsy, Arthur couldn’t recall ever seeing him as drunk as he was now. The man reeked of liquor, and Arthur fought back a grimace as he cleared his throat.

“May I speak to Mary?” He asked.

His eyes narrowed. “I was hoping you were dead.”

“Well, I ain’t," he huffed. "So, can I see her?”

“No,”

Arthur frowned but forced himself to remain as cordial as he could bring himself to be. “Mr. Gillis, I—”

“I said, no!” He snapped. 

The sharp tone in his voice made him tense, and for a brief moment, Arthur wondered just when the fear creeping at the back of his mind had returned. As he opened his mouth to protest once more, Mary appeared beside Mr. Gillis and gently placed her hand on his arm.

“Please, daddy?” She said.

Mr. Gillis muttered under his breath as he pulled his arm away. Yet he walked away from the door nonetheless, and Arthur looked over at Mary to find her examining him with wide eyes. As she shut the door, he braced himself for a disgusted look or a derisive comment about his appearance, but instead, she rushed forward to wrap her arms around his neck in a hug. Arthur had to brace himself against the railing to keep them both from falling as she held him tight, her face tucked into the crook of his neck. 

Arthur smiled as he wrapped his arms around her waist, and he wasn’t sure how long they stood like that before she finally pulled away. He cradled Mary’s face in his hands and used his thumbs to gently wipe away her tears.

“I thought for sure I’d lost you too,” she said quietly as she wrapped a hand around one of his.

He furrowed his brow at her wording. “What do you mean?”

She lowered her glassy eyes and shook her head. “Mother passed away a few days after you disappeared.”

Arthur felt his heart break for her, and he gently pulled her into another hug. He wordlessly held her, feeling each sob chip away at his heart. It pained him knowing he hadn’t been able to be there for her, and while he couldn’t bring himself to ask, he wondered if there had been anyone by her side to support her in her grief.

Once Mary’s sobs had subsided, he pulled away and offered her a smile as he held her by her shoulders. “Hey, why don’t we ride down to Juneau Park and enjoy the weather for a while?”

“I don’t know, Arthur,”

“Come on. I even got you that horse I promised you!”

She blinked. “You did not!”

“I did,” he smirked as he took her by the hand and led her to where Boadicea and the Morgan were. She could hardly believe her eyes as Arthur untied the reins from his saddle and handed them to her. 

“I swear if you stole this horse—”

“Mary, that horse saved my life, and trust me, that horse is in far better hands now,”

She eyed him as he mounted his horse, and she stroked the mare’s neck before settling into the weathered saddle. Mary didn’t press him for any further details. She didn’t want to think about who the horse’s previous owners were or what they were like. Annabelle had visited her the day after Arthur had returned, and while she hadn't given away many details, she did tell Mary that Arthur had been taken by a rival gang. It was easy to connect the dots from there. The horse she was riding was the very one Arthur had used to escape the men who had captured him.

It didn’t take long to arrive at the park, and Arthur eventually dismounted after stopping by a bench that overlooked Lake Michigan. Mary had been there before, although it had been a while since her last visit, and she remained in her saddle as she took in the dazzling sunlight that reflected off the rolling waves. The lake was a sight for sore eyes, and the longer she stared, the more she felt her sadness ebb with the tide. Yet, it was with a heavy heart that she reminded herself that the reprieve from the dark cloud that had settled within her home was only temporary.

“Well, have you thought of a name for her?” 

Arthur’s question pulled her from her deep musings, and she smiled at him as he helped her down. “I was thinking of calling her Gale.” 

His nose wrinkled at the name. “Gale?”

“Sure, she whisked you away and saved your life, didn’t she?”

“Ain’t that fitting,” he replied before taking her hand and leading her over to the bench. When they were seated, Arthur wrapped an arm around Mary’s shoulders as she rested her head against him. They watched the cresting of the waves on the shore in silence, relishing in the other’s company that they had deeply missed. Oddly enough, for Mary, it was the first time since her mother passed that she felt any sense of stability. With Arthur’s arm around her, she felt safe enough to let her guard down, and without meaning to, she closed her eyes as she listened to his rhythmic breathing as it echoed the ebb and flow of the waves. 

Eventually, Arthur shifted as he cleared his throat. She lifted her head to find him staring down at the grass, and her brow furrowed as she noticed the nervous look in his eye. 

“Mary,” he started, “I did a lot of thinkin’ when I was stuck in that gang’s camp, or I guess I’ve _been _doing a lot of thinkin’.”

“About what, Arthur?”

He swallowed as he took hold of her hand. “Honestly, there was a lot going through my mind, especially after I made it back. I’m sure you can imagine how much everyone was fussin’ over me, and it felt like the only thing I _could _do was think. Though there was one thought that I couldn’t shake.” Arthur paused as his eyes flicked up to meet hers. 

Mary blinked as she watched him leave the bench to get down on one knee, and her lungs hitched as she recognized what he was doing. He withdrew a ring from his vest pocket and offered it to her with a timid smile. 

“I know my life ain’t easy, and I’ve caused you some trouble, but there ain’t no one else I’d rather have by my side,” he said. “What do you say?”

“Arthur, I…”

“You could leave, be free from your daddy and his drinking,”

She felt her throat tighten. “And what about Jamie?” 

“He can come too!”

Arthur waited for her answer with bated breath. He could feel his heartbeat in his ears, yet he felt it sink to the pit of his stomach as he caught her studying the bruises on his face. What hope he had started to crack like ice, and he waited for the moment when her rejection would cause him to fall through. Her eyes began to well with tears, and she leaned forward to take his hand in both of hers. 

“Oh, Arthur, you know I can’t do that to Jamie. I can’t put him into that kind of danger, and with mother gone and daddy hardly coping, it would be selfish of me to leave him behind.” She drew a deep breath. “And even if Jamie was off living his own life, I’m not sure if I could live yours.”

His shoulders slowly slumped as her words sank in, and his eyes lowered to her hands. Her smooth skin made his look all the more weathered and calloused. The sight caused Arthur’s heart to twist in his chest, reminding him how starkly different their lives were. Her reply was unsurprising, and he realized he was a fool for ever hoping she would join him. 

Arthur nodded, albeit dejectedly, before straightening himself. “I understand.”

She rose to her feet with him. “Believe me, Arthur, I want to say yes. I don’t think you know how much it hurts me not to.”

“Then here,” he took her hand and slipped the ring over her finger, “keep it.”

Her eyes widened as she shook her head. “Arthur, I couldn’t—”

“No, I insist,” he replied with a tight smile. “Hell, maybe someday I might just join your high-society living.”

Mary grinned at that. “I hope so. I really do. There’s a good man in you, and you don’t know how much I’d love to see that part of you thrive.”

“I dunno about that one,”

“Well, I do,”

He rolled his eyes before tilting her chin upwards as he leaned in for a kiss. Despite Mary’s answer to his proposal, she welcomed his kiss. She smiled as his hands cradled her face, and at that moment, she found her mind pondering all the things that could have been, dreaming about what life could be and the freedoms she could have. She imagined the kind of husband Arthur would be, what it would be like to wake up to him each morning without a care of where they were, and how she could be whoever she wanted to be.

Yet, reality’s brutal truth kept her anchored where she was, keeping her mind from floating away completely. Arthur was an outlaw, and to choose to join him in that was one thing. Bringing that life onto Jamie was another. Mary would never admit it outright, but the last bit of decency and stability her father owned had left with her mother. To leave Jamie alone with him would be cruel, and as painful as the reality of her situation was, she was now fully responsible for her brother. She was the only one left to look after him, and turning Jamie into an outlaw was a decision she refused to make. 

Mary eventually pulled away and cupped Arthur’s face with one hand, the ring on her finger sparkling in the light. “Maybe one day we’ll be able to have this.”

He flashed her a smile and took her hand in his. “I’ll be lookin’ forward to that day.”

Hosea absently rubbed his chin as he examined the map Dutch had laid out on the dining table. The map only focused on the midwestern states, and his eyes tracked Dutch’s finger as he laid out the route he was envisioning for them. 

While Arthur had been recovering, they had all agreed that they needed to leave Milwaukee. Now that Colm generally knew where they were, lingering close to the city was a risk that none of them wanted to take. The farmhouse had been a wonderful find, but it had served its purpose, and Arthur’s safety was far more valuable. Hosea would sooner live in a drafty tent before taking even the slightest chance of losing Arthur again. A canvas ceiling was better than nothing, and he was relieved to find that the others agreed. 

Hosea mentally retraced the route Dutch had drawn with his finger before furrowing his brow. It had gone through Illinois, stopping somewhere in the southern part of the state, and the thought of even traveling near the O’Driscoll camp put him on edge. “Arthur mentioned the O’Driscoll camp was south of Genoa City. That puts them in Illinois. Shouldn’t we be trying to go somewhere they aren’t?”

He shook his head. "That’s where they'd think we're heading. If they’re still searching for Arthur, that’s where they’ll look first.”

“I don’t know, Dutch,”

“They’re going to assume we’d be running away, Hosea. Going anywhere else would be too obvious.”

Hosea met his gaze with a raised eyebrow. “We aren’t running away, no matter what direction we take. This is for Arthur’s safety.”

“I know that!” He replied. “I’m just saying what they’d think.”

He doubted that but held his tongue as his eyes returned to the map. They would be heading into homestead territory where the closest city would be either Peoria, Decatur, Springfield, or St. Louis depending on how far south they went. Hosea pressed his fingers to his temple as he thought through the details that Dutch had undoubtedly overlooked. However, he was interrupted as he heard the front door open. 

His eyes flicked up to meet Dutch’s. They had decided that Hosea would be the one to break the news to Arthur. While it was the last thing Hosea wanted to do, and Dutch had been reluctant to admit it, they both knew the conversation would go smoother if he were to do it. Dutch may not have thought highly of Mary, but even he seemed to regret the decision to uproot and leave both their home and Milwaukee behind. He gave Hosea a reassuring nod before lowering his gaze to the map once more.

Hosea looked over at Arthur as he appeared at the entryway, and he felt a tightness settle in his chest as he noticed how well dressed the young man was. It was all he needed to infer that Arthur had just returned from seeing Mary.

Arthur leaned against the doorframe with his hands in his pockets, yet the small smile he wore fell as his eyes noticed the unfurled map. A nervous chuckle left his lips as he met Hosea’s somber gaze. “You two look like you’re planning a robbery or somethin’.”

“I wish we were,” Hosea replied. “Arthur, I hate to say it, but we can’t stay here anymore.”

He blinked as he stood where he was in silence before he frowned. “We’re leaving?”

“We can’t risk it with Colm knowing our general whereabouts,”

Arthur shook his head. “He ain’t gonna find us.”

“I’m sorry, son, we can’t take that chance. It’s for your own safety.”

His frown deepened. “Then let’s move to the other side of town, or find someplace north of Milwaukee.”

“I’m afraid it isn’t that simple. Both you and I know that won't fool him.”

Arthur lowered his heated stare to his boots, his residual simmering anger towards himself for his mistakes coming to a full-fledged boil. This was his fault, and he was convinced that if he had been transparent from the start about Colm, the last fifteen days would’ve never happened. He wouldn’t have to leave the house that had started to feel like home or leave Mary alone to look after her brother and her drunkard of a father.

“Arthur?”

He looked up to meet Hosea’s sympathetic gaze.

“We know how hard this must be for you,” he said. “Which is why we aren’t leaving until tomorrow afternoon if you wanted to say goodbye to Mary.”

Arthur swallowed as he folded his arms across his chest and nodded. While he wanted to thank Hosea, he didn’t trust his voice, and without a word, he climbed the steps to his room and shut the door behind him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for your patience with this chapter! I wanted to get it just right so it took a little longer than usual 😅
> 
> I hope everyone is staying healthy and safe!!!! Thank you for all the love you all give this fic ;; <3 I'm so appreciative of every one of you


	19. Bitter Water

Arthur resented moving, yet he knew he only had himself to blame. While he was aware that leaving the house he had come to know as home wouldn’t be easy, saying goodbye to Mary had proved to be more difficult than he imagined. Their farewell had caused the space where his heart resided to feel more like an empty cavity in his chest. He had promised to write to her while they were gone and to visit when he could. Although, in the two years since leaving Milwaukee, Arthur hadn’t been able to visit her. By now, he had learned better than to run off on his own, and even Hosea refused to let him see her. Arthur had tried to argue that taking a train would make the trip quick and safe. He would be in and out of Milwaukee before Colm even caught wind of him, but there was nothing Arthur could do to convince Hosea. There was no budging the man from his decision to keep Arthur away from Milwaukee, which only left the young man stewing in his self-loathing. It was his fault they had to move, and he more often than not found himself desperately wishing he could turn back time.

The two years since leaving had been long and dull. To keep a low profile, the gang stuck to carrying out smaller jobs. Instead of swindling folks, Arthur’s responsibilities shifted to keeping up with the camp’s chores. From scrubbing pots, to hunting and keeping the horses healthy, he found himself working throughout the day. Yet while it wasn’t a light workload in the slightest, Arthur was oddly grateful for the distraction. It kept his mind off the regret and guilt that festered underneath the surface, and drained enough energy to allow him to get a few hours of sleep when his mind wasn’t ruminating the things that both had and could have been. 

Yet even when he did catch a few hours, he found his sleep saturated with nightmares that left him staring at the canvas ceiling most nights. If he wasn’t drawing or journaling, he let his mind wander, and usually, they lingered on Mary, wondering how she was holding up between looking after her little brother and drunk father. 

In her own way, she too had been forced to grow up too quickly, and often Arthur wondered if he was a fool for thinking his way of life would have given her some sort of reprieve. Looking back on his own life, he realized his twenty years felt more like half a lifetime. The ability to live a domestic life was far from his reach, and he cursed himself for ever believing Mary would willingly join his calamitous life.

Their newest campsite was nestled in a small clearing in a forest of oaks, with a nearby lake to the east and a river to the south. For what it was, Arthur didn’t mind it. They’d set up camp in less ideal places, and he found the tree cover calming. He also appreciated the fact that, while it was almost a five-hour ride to Peoria, there was a growing town known as Mason City that was about an hour away. Thanks to the new railroad system, the town was quickly growing, and Arthur was grateful that it had an efficient post office where he could continue to correspond with Mary.

It was after spending fifteen minutes chopping wood when Arthur decided to rest on the oak stump they used as their chopping block. He withdrew a cigarette from his pocket and lit the end as he stared at the sunlight that dappled the tall grass. He used his shirt to wipe his damp brow before rolling up his sleeves. Even in the shade of the trees, it was warm. The weather was quickly losing the last chill of early spring, and Arthur unbuttoned a few more buttons of his shirt in an attempt to cool off. 

Behind him, the crunching of undergrowth reached his ears, and he turned to find Hosea walking over to him. The man offered him a smile when he reached his side and held out a sealed letter. 

“It’s from Miss Gillis,”

“Thanks,” Arthur said as he took it from him.

With a soft grunt, Hosea lowered himself to the ground to sit beside him in the grass. “How are you holding up?”

“Fine,”

“I find that one hard to believe,” Hosea scoffed lightly. “You haven’t quite been the same since we left.”

He shrugged, and with a smirk, he took a long drag on his cigarette. “Maybe I’m just getting old like you.”

Hosea rolled his eyes and lightly swatted his arm.

Arthur chuckled to himself as he turned over the envelope in his hand and opened it.

“How are things between you two?”

“I guess as good as you’d expect it to be,” he mused. “As I’ve said, we ain’t _really _engaged, don’t even know why she still fancies me.”

Hosea smiled to himself. “Yes, that sure is a mystery between your charm, good looks, kind heart—”

“Oh, shut up!” He huffed as he elbowed him in the shoulder. 

A laugh escaped him despite the retort, and he returned the light jab by ruffling his hair. Arthur groaned as he ran his fingers through it to smooth the mussed strands. “She’s absolutely smitten with you, Arthur! If it’s meant to be, distance won’t get between you two.”

“Sure,” he grunted as he gingerly tucked the letter into his pocket. “Whatever you say.”

Hosea’s smile faltered as he studied Arthur. He wore a deep frown as he continued to smoke his cigarette. The longer Hosea examined him, the more Arthur fidgeted, and it occurred to him that it had been too long since the two of them had spent time alone together. Between getting settled, and supervising Dutch when it came to figuring out the details of their current situation, the days had slipped by him without even realizing it. 

Hosea drew a deep breath and squeezed Arthur’s shoulder, yet before he could suggest a lengthy hunting trip, a sudden commotion behind them stole both of their attention. They turned to look over their shoulder as the sound of struggling grew louder, and Arthur was on his feet in an instant with his hand on his revolver. Hosea followed suit (although a little slower), and Arthur found himself squinting hard at the sight that eventually appeared between the trees. 

“What the hell? Is that…?” 

Hosea felt a sense of dread settle in his gut. “It sure is.”

Dutch had come back from scoping out the area, and while he had left alone, that was certainly not the case when he returned. A kid was struggling in his arms, or at least Arthur assumed it was a kid and not some rabid animal. The sounds that came out of the child were anything but human, and the dark hair that covered their face was long and tangled. It would’ve been a sad sight if it weren’t for Dutch’s exasperated look. Arthur had to stifle a laugh. Between the man’s disheveled shirt and sweat-drenched brow from trying to keep a hold on the kid, the entire situation was amusing. Arthur even swore he caught the light bruising of a few bite marks on his arm. Dutch had his hands full in more ways than one, and the quiet snicker that escaped him earned him a silent scolding from Hosea in the form of an elbow jab to the ribs.

Yet, Arthur’s mirth quickly disappeared when Dutch managed to dismount and made his way over to them, half dragging the kid in his arms with him. The child, who he assumed was a boy, was practically snarling and trying his hardest to wiggle his way to freedom, and Arthur felt his heart drop as Dutch made eye contact with him.

“Arthur!”

“Oh, shit,” he muttered under his breath.

“Would you be so kind as to keep an eye on this poor boy while Hosea and I talk?”

Arthur warily eyed the boy. Surely Annabelle, Susan, or Bessie would’ve been a better option. Yet Dutch didn’t wait for his answer before letting the kid go, and Arthur groaned as he darted away into _his _tent, of all places. The kid had plenty of them to choose from, and it was just his luck that the feral child had picked his. 

As soon as the kid was out of sight, Dutch’s smile fell as he lowered his voice. “He’s real skittish, Arthur.”

“No shit,”

His brow furrowed. “Some men tried to hang him.”

The words hung heavily in the air, causing both he and Hosea to stiffen. Anyone with half a mind would know the kid wasn’t anywhere near heavy enough for a swift death. He had witnessed firsthand what a hanging looked like for people who lacked the proper weight for the noose to snap their neck, had been forced to watch as they were left to hang gasping for air like a fish on the line. It was his father's way of discouraging him from doing anything stupid years ago while they were on the run. To think someone had tried to give the boy that same fate left Arthur’s mouth dry. Whoever had gotten a hold of the kid had deliberately made the decision to hang him, had intended for a slow and painful death. The thought caused a chill to run down his spine as he glanced at the closed canvas flaps.

“Does he have any family?” Hosea asked.

“Don’t know, the boy hasn’t said a single coherent word,”

With a shake of his head, Hosea followed Dutch to the outskirts of camp where they talked in hushed tones. 

Arthur sighed before reluctantly walking over to his tent and gently pulled back a flap. He frowned, not seeing the boy at first. It took him a brief moment to find him, and when he did, he internally winced at the sight. The kid had wedged himself in the farthest corner underneath a table and had maneuvered two empty crates, so they sat on either side of him. He stared at Arthur with wide eyes and tear-stained cheeks, chest heaving with quick gasping breaths. Yet, the terror in his eyes only lasted a moment before a fiery look replaced it. He glared at Arthur as he tensed, his hands curling into tight fists.

Arthur wordlessly held his hands up to show he meant no harm as he let the flap close behind him. He then slowly sat in the grass in the farthest corner of his tent that was opposite to the boy. The gesture seemed to ease the kid enough to slow his breathing, and without making any sudden moves, Arthur reached over to grab a candy bar he’d left on his cot. The chocolate had originally been bought for Hosea, but it was the closest thing he could give to the kid who was as thin as a clothesline. 

He held it up so the boy could see what it was, and a small smile pulled at the corner of Arthur’s mouth when his gaze was quickly transfixed by the candy bar. “I’m gonna toss this to you, okay?” 

The boy nodded, eyes still wide, and when it was tossed to him, he quickly snatched it from the grass and began to unwrap it. 

Arthur silently watched him as he withdrew his letter and set it on the cot, his eyes lingering on the violet ring around John's neck. He swallowed as he noticed a few other cuts and bruises on the boy’s arms, the sight causing a pang to resound in his heart. Arthur felt it echo in his chest as he recalled both old and recent memories of pain and abuse, and he came to the conclusion that the boy was entirely too young to have suffered such cruelty. 

“You speak any English, kid?” Arthur eventually asked.

His eyes snapped up to meet Arthur’s as he paused devouring his peace offering. “I ain’t a kid!”

His voice was raw and grating on Arthur's ears, but there was no stopping the snort of amusement that escaped him at his retort. “‘Course you ain’t. You got a name?”

He tensed as he eyed Arthur. “John.”

“John, what?”

He hesitated. “John Marston,”

“Mine’s Arthur Morgan and the man that brought you here is Dutch van der Linde,”

“That’s a funny name,”

“I suppose it is,” he said with a shrug. “You got any family, John?”

“What’s it to you?” John spat.

“Whoa! Easy there, s’just a question.”

“Ain’t none of your business!”

Arthur rolled his eyes and shifted so he was leaning against his cot. While the movement was brief, it had John scooting even further against the tent. “Easy now, scoot any further, and you might just take that peg out. I ain’t gonna hurt you.”

While John said nothing, he shifted his weight enough to avoid leaning too hard against the canvas wall. 

“So, if you ain’t a kid, how old are you, John?” 

“Twelve,”

Arthur raised an eyebrow at that. “Twelve?” 

He scrunched up his face at him. “That’s what I said, ain’t it?”

He couldn’t help the laugh that fell from his lips. The kid had as much grit as was stuck to his skin and hair. Despite his size and jumpiness, he was surprisingly tough and scrappy. Arthur couldn’t recall ever coming across a kid quite like him, even when he was living on the streets.

“What’s so funny?” John snapped.

He had opened his mouth to answer when the flap of his tent was pulled to the side, causing John to instantly curl in on himself. Arthur looked over his shoulder to find that it was Dutch, and with a simple nod of his head, Arthur knew that it was his turn to join the conversation. 

Arthur rose to his feet and left the tent, and Dutch led him with an arm around his shoulders over to where Hosea was. 

“Well? What do you make of the kid? Did he say anything?” 

Arthur shrugged. “He only said what he wanted to say. His name is John Marston, he’s twelve, and I don’t think he has any family. Ain’t there an orphanage or two in Chicago that’ll take him?”

While Dutch shot him a look of disbelief, Arthur saw Hosea raise an eyebrow at Dutch as he folded his arms. It was a look that the young man had seen countless times, and if it were put into words, it would've said ‘see, I told you’. 

“Send him to an orphanage?” Dutch asked. “Arthur, do you even hear yourself?” 

“I do, clear as day,”

“Do you even know what orphanages are like? Hell, I can almost guarantee you had it better living on the streets than living in one of those child asylums.”

Arthur frowned at Dutch’s implications, seeing all too clearly the direction Dutch was heading in. He turned to Hosea, feeling desperation claw at him. John was about as tame as a wildcat, and he was convinced Dutch had gone mad if he thought it was a good idea to take him in. There was also a sense of fear that had begun to snake its way into his mind. He didn’t have an exact name for it yet, but he did know that the last thing he wanted was for one more thing to change in his life. Arthur knew in the back of his mind that taking John in would turn everything he knew on its head. It would be one more tumultuous thing in his life that he didn’t need or want. 

“Hosea, please tell me he ain’t serious,”

The man drew a deep, slow breath through his nose. “I’m afraid he is.”

“Dutch!” He huffed as he rounded on him. “The kid’s been through a lot of shit, I’ll give you that, but I swear he’s rabid!”

“Arthur, you know that ain’t true,” Dutch replied.

His gaze shifted to Hosea again. “Surely _you_ know how ridiculous this is! That kid is gonna be nothin’ but trouble!”

Hosea’s lip quirked upward at that as he chuckled to himself. “I said the same thing about you.”

“_You did?_” 

He nodded. “Give the boy a chance, Arthur. We’ll keep him around for a few weeks, take care of him properly in the meantime, and then decide from there what to do about him long-term. As of right now, this is only temporary.”

Arthur couldn’t believe what he was hearing, and he muttered under his breath before begrudgingly nodding.

Dutch flashed him a smile and squeezed his shoulder before he and Hosea went to tell the others about their new arrival. Arthur watched them go with a deep frown before stalking over to where the horses were hitched. Little did he know, however, that he was being watched by John, and it was only when the coast was clear that he decided to follow him. 

While John didn’t understand it, Arthur felt safe. Despite the way he’d laughed at him, is broad stature and strong presence were strangely comforting. Staying inside Arthur’s tent may have meant he was hidden away, but the last thing John wanted was to be alone in an unfamiliar camp full of strangers. Arthur seemed nice enough not to hurt him, or at least that was the impression he made, and that alone was enough motivation to leave his corner in Arthur’s tent. Yet, even so, he hung back a few paces as he followed Arthur as silently as he could manage.

Arthur picked up a brush that was in a crate and began to brush Boadicea down. The simple motion was more therapeutic than it was a chore, and he had almost forgotten his frustration as the mare exhaled soft snorts. With a smile, he patted her neck and walked around to the other side. His smile, however, was short-lived as he just barely caught John duck behind some bushes nearby. Arthur frowned and muttered under his breath.

“I know you’re over there,”

Nothing.

He groaned. “I literally just saw you!”

The boy slowly peeked around the bush, warily eyeing Arthur and the horses. 

Arthur sighed as he forced himself to come to terms with the fact that he wouldn’t be getting any kind of peace anytime soon. “Are you just gonna stand there or are you gonna come over?”

John tensed, and after a moment of hesitation, he crept out from behind the bushes and tentatively walked over to him. However, he stayed more than an arm’s distance away, finding it more comfortable to be out of anyone’s reach, even Arthur’s.

For a while, Arthur tried with everything he had to ignore the kid’s guarded posture and positioning. It was far more familiar to him than he would’ve liked, and he fought tooth and nail against the pity that was chipping away at the walls around his heart. The boy who stood four feet away, fidgeting with his hands, was the very weight threatening to tip the scale that was already precariously balancing his life. Arthur felt bitterness well up in the back of his throat at the thought. Nothing would be the same if they took in the scrawny brat, and yet Arthur couldn’t see the gang choosing anything else. As much as he hated to admit it, taking John in as one of their own felt natural like a river pulling a boat. Just as it was useless to fight against the current, there was no changing Dutch’s mind if he was truly set on fostering John.

Arthur muttered a string of curses under his breath before taking a deep breath through his nose. “Well?”

John only flinched at his tone before shifting his weight from one foot to the next.

It almost physically pained him to adjust his tone before he spoke. “You wanna brush her?”

He studied the brush in Arthur’s outstretched hand before nervously doing the same to Boadicea. 

“She don’t bite. Hell, other than Bessie, she’s the gentlest member of this gang,”

John bit his lip as he met Arthur’s eyes. “What about you?”

Arthur snorted at that. “You don’t want to know the answer to that question.”

He eyed the brush once more before shaking his head.

“Oh, come on, I was only joking!” he huffed.

The sound of heated tones from inside Dutch’s tent reached both of their ears, and John had scurried off before Arthur could even open his mouth to assure him that everything was fine. Arthur simply shook his head and continued brushing Boadicea down. At least he had tried. Who was he to stop the boy from running off somewhere? John was allowed the right to choose what side to take, whether he wanted to stay or leave. 

And Arthur didn’t want to get in his way, especially if he decided on the latter.

He tried his best to tune out the arguing with little success. There was no mistaking the voices as belonging to Susan and Dutch, and Arthur clenched his jaw as he heard his name several times in their otherwise indistinct argument. 

Arthur moved on to Silver Dollar when he finished grooming Boadicea’s coat, but he didn’t get far before Dutch stormed out of the tent. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the man recollect himself with a deep breath and sweep his dark hair out of his face. Dutch’s brow furrowed soon after as he looked around the camp, and Arthur already knew the question on his mind when he walked over to him.

“Where’s John?”

“Hell if I know, wasn’t _my _yellin’ that scared him off,” he snarked. Yet he regretted his reply the instant it rolled off his tongue. The bitterness dripping from his tone was unfamiliar to even his own ears, and he immediately tensed. Dutch was already in a foul mood from the verbal lashing he’d received from Susan, and in hindsight, he realized that now was the worst time to let his turbulent emotions get the best of him. It was an accident, and Dutch reacted before he could apologize.

As expected, Dutch scowled at his tone. However, Arthur was caught by surprise when the man seized the collar of his shirt with both fists. His lungs seized as he stared at Dutch with wide eyes, stock-still in his grasp. His chest tightened as he realized that the dark look in Dutch’s eye was hauntingly familiar. Yet the look scarcely lasted a second before Dutch released him, opting to hold him by the shoulders instead. Remorse flickered in his eyes as he smoothed Arthur’s wrinkled shirt. It was the closest thing Arthur would ever get to an apology, and as his breathing returned to normal, he couldn’t help but feel ashamed of his visceral reaction. Dutch had never hurt him, and he couldn’t pinpoint just where the all too tangible fear had come from.

“Listen, son, I know you ain’t keen on keeping the kid around, but that boy needs us. Did you see him run off somewhere?”

He shook his head. “Nossir, not really.”

Dutch let him go and walked away, calling for John as he looked around the camp. 

Arthur drew a shaky breath in an attempt to regain his composure. With a shake of his head, he tossed the brush into the crate and whistled for Copper. Perhaps a walk with the coonhound would clear his head while simultaneously keeping him out of Dutch’s way. 

He walked down to the nearby river, whose water rolled lazily downstream. Arthur had walked the length of it before, and while the river seemed tranquil, he knew that it was nothing but rapids further upstream. At times, it reminded him of himself. Arthur did his best to hide what churned underneath the surface, and more often than not, what he felt mirrored the raging river that was several miles away. 

He knelt down at the bank and dipped his cupped hands into the water before splashing his face with it. Its coolness helped bring back his peace of mind, washing away the residual panic that had been running through his veins.

Copper licked at the water dripping from his chin, and he couldn't help but laugh. He held the dog's face in his hands and allowed him a few more licks before hugging Copper's neck. Holding the dog in his arms gave him instant relief from his troubles, and the coonhound was happy to receive the affection, but sitting still was another thing. Eventually, he wiggled out of Arthur's grasp, playfully spun around once, and then leaped right into the river.

Arthur raised his arms as water splashed him and muttered under his breath. There was only ever one way to get Copper to leave the water, and while the coolness of the river had felt pleasant on his face, stepping into the chest-deep water was another story. Thankfully, it was rather easy to pull the dog to shore, and to add insult to injury, Copper gave a hearty shake before bounding out of Arthur's reach. Both of them were sopping wet, and while Arthur had been sweating earlier, the soggy clothes that clung to him were both cold and uncomfortable. He had planned on walking for a while, but Copper’s unexpected swim had him returning to camp sooner than he would’ve liked. 

He found Hosea reading at a folding table when he came back, and a gusty laugh escaped him when he looked up from his book. Arthur scowled as he wrung out his shirt. He could only imagine how disheveled he looked, and with Copper beside him wagging his tail as if he’d caught some prized raccoon, Arthur couldn’t blame Hosea for being amused by the sight they made.

“Do I want to know what happened?” Hosea chuckled.

“Nothin’ out of the ordinary,”

Hosea shook his head, smiling from ear to ear. “I’m surprised you didn’t see it coming.”

He shrugged. “Ain’t the first time I’ve assumed the best of him.”

“No, and it certainly won’t be the last,” 

Arthur’s lip quirked upward at that as he watched Copper bound over to a patch of tall grass. He rolled in it, his legs splayed in the air as he wiggled to and fro in the sunlight. “Is Dutch still looking for that kid?”

“He is,”

“Think he’ll find him?”

“Jury’s still out on that one,” he replied. “How’re you doing?”

Arthur continued to watch Copper as he avoided Hosea’s gaze. “I dunno, I guess I’m just unsure about this whole thing.”

Hosea nodded to himself and held back from pressing him for further details. At least Arthur’s response was better than his usual dismissive answer. “You have every right to feel that way.”

“Except in front of Dutch,” he scoffed.

“You don’t have to wear a facade just to please him, Arthur,” he said before his eyes returned to the worn pages in his book. “Now go change, you smell worse than Copper.”

With a heavy eye roll, Arthur did as he was told and trudged over to his tent. He pulled back the flap, and his eyes had hardly adjusted to the lighting when something hard struck his forehead. Hissing out a long string of swears, he reeled backward and rubbed where the burst of pain still radiated. Arthur’s eyes caught the stone that had been flung at him sticking out between the blades of grass, and with a scowl, he picked it up in his hand and glanced over his shoulder at Hosea.

“Found him,”

Hosea looked up once again from his book, and his eyes widened. Arthur could feel the trickle of blood from where the rock had found its mark, and he held it up for emphasis. 

“Told you he was feral,” Arthur added before cautiously pulling back a tent flap, this time standing out of the way of any other incoming rocks. As expected, another stone was hurled through the opening, and Arthur shielded his head as he ducked inside.

Another stone was pegged at his shoulder, and Arthur swore. “Would you quit that? I ain’t gonna hurt you!”

“I ain’t comin’ out!” John snapped.

“I never said you had to!” He retorted. “But this is _my _tent!”

John halted mid-throw at that, his bright eyes staring Arthur down from the spot he had made for himself once again in the corner. "You swear?”

“Yeah, whatever,” Arthur huffed as he exchanged his shirt for a dry one before another stone struck the small of his back. “Ow! What the hell!”

“Swear it!” 

“Fine! I swear I won’t drag your skinny ass out of here. Just where are you finding all those damn rocks anyway?”

“I ain’t tellin’ you!”

“You know, for sayin’ you ain’t a kid, you sure act like one,”

John wrinkled his nose at that. “Takes one to know one.”

Arthur paused buttoning his shirt to round on John, causing him to shrink further into his corner. “Listen, you little brat! I’m _trying _to be kind, but if you keep testing my patience, I won't hesitate to throw your ass out of here!”

John clamped his mouth shut as he stared up at him with wide eyes, and Arthur blinked as it dawned on him with a chill what he had said. The words that had fallen out of his mouth had sounded too much like Colm's, and the realization caused his stomach to turn. Arthur forced his shoulders to relax as he drew a deep breath.

“Stay there as long as you want,” he said gently. “But Dutch ain’t gonna hurt you, nor any of the rest of them. We ain’t the best people, but they’re kind.”

The boy hugged his knobby knees to his chest tighter.

Arthur sighed. “I promise.”

When he still said nothing, Arthur decided to turn his back to him once more as he changed into a dry pair of jeans before joining Hosea at the table where he distracted himself by drawing in his journal.

Dutch returned just as Susan was finishing up that night’s stew. The man looked beside himself until Hosea informed him that John had been inside Arthur’s tent the whole time. It surprised Arthur when he simply laughed at the revelation. However, when his eyes landed on Arthur, his brow furrowed as he studied the angry cut on his forehead. 

“What happened, Arthur?”

“John was throwing rocks at me,”

He snorted at that. “And you didn’t duck?”

“I didn’t know he was in there!”

A hearty laugh escaped him at that, and Arthur chose to ignore him by focussing on his drawing.

It wasn’t long after when Susan announced that the stew was ready, and Arthur was unfazed when John still hadn’t left the tent. He’d watched as Dutch had unsuccessfully tried to coax the boy out with a bowl of stew. Not even hunger could make him budge from his spot, and when Dutch looked over at Arthur, he instantly looked away. Arthur knew what was coming, and his grip on his spoon tightened as he sensed Dutch walk over to him.

“Arthur, could you take this into your tent when you finish?”

He only nodded as he stared at the bowl Dutch set down beside his.

“Thanks, son, he seems to trust you the most right now,”

“Don’t know _why_,” he grumbled.

“You two have more in common than you think,” Hosea said. “None of our childhoods have been glamorous, but yours isn’t as far behind you as ours are.”

Arthur wasn’t convinced. They both may have had to fend for themselves at a young age, but from what Arthur could remember, he had gladly gone with Dutch and Hosea. When Dutch, Hosea, and Susan had shown him kindness, he didn’t hide away in the corner of a tent, nor did he hurl rocks at them. John was blatantly ungrateful towards the man who had quite literally saved his life, and yet Dutch still had a soft spot for him. Arthur didn’t understand it, and it left an acrid taste in his mouth.

Eventually, Arthur placed his empty bowl in the washing bucket before picking John’s up and carrying it with him into his tent. Judging by the way John startled upright, Arthur figured the kid had fallen asleep. However, he knew better than to mention it, and he wordlessly placed the bowl by one of the table legs. 

“Here, it ain’t much, but it’s still good. Miss Grimshaw knows her spices.”

John eyed the bowl skeptically until Arthur took his place once more at the opposite end of the tent. It was only once Arthur had fully seated himself that the boy pulled the bowl close and began to eat. 

Arthur couldn’t help but smile as John practically licked the bowl clean. “There’s more out there if you want seconds.”

He jumped at the sound of Arthur’s voice as if he’d been too wrapped up in his meal and had forgotten his presence. John hesitated before he dipped his chin in a faint nod as he held the bowl out for Arthur. The young man took it, resisting a snarky remark as he did, and left. After he had poured more of the steaming stew into the bowl, he looked up to find Hosea approaching him. There was a bedroll tucked underneath his arm, and Arthur waited where he was as the older outlaw made his way over.

“I found this spare bedroll in our wagon, thought it might be useful,”

“Thanks,” he replied as he took it.

Hosea offered him an easygoing smile. “Figured you’d prefer him to have his own bed instead of sharing yours.”

He snorted. “Yeah, the kid probably has fleas.”

“Arthur!”

“I’m just joking,” he laughed.

Hosea raised an eyebrow at that, but Arthur had already turned before he could express his doubts. 

John’s second helping was eaten slower than the first, yet he finished every drop nonetheless. Arthur had nearly drifted off as he sat on his ‘side’ of his tent, leaning against his cot. The sun had started to disappear behind the tall trees, and once he was sure John was finished, Arthur rose to his feet to roll out the bedroll just beside his cot. John watched with rapt attention from where he was, and there was no curling into his corner or hiding behind the crates. It was the first time that day that John hadn’t flinched away from Arthur, and as annoying as he already thought John was, he smiled anyway at the growing trust between them. 

“Hosea thought you could use this,” Arthur said as he finished smoothing it out. 

“Hosea?”

“Yeah, he’s the blond one. Well, mostly blond.”

John examined the bedroll before his wary gaze shifted to Arthur. 

He sighed. “Listen, I ain’t gonna throw you out or hurt you.”

“You promise?”

“Promise,”

John searched his eyes as much as he could in the fading light before slowly easing his way out from underneath the table. Arthur gently coaxed him the rest of the way to the bedroll as if luring a skittish animal out from its hiding place. When John had wriggled his way underneath the wool and canvas, Arthur went over to the tent’s opening and paused before turning to the boy.

“How do you feel about dogs, John?”

He shrugged, and Arthur had to hide his amusement at how John’s eyes barely peered over the edge of the blanket. 

“Well, Copper usually sleeps in my tent, but he’s friendly. The worse he’ll do is lick ya to death.” Arthur then pulled the flap open and whistled for Copper. He saw the dog stretch from where he’d been sleeping before lazily trotting over for bed. As he said, Copper merely sniffed at John’s form underneath the blanket before curling up at his place at the foot of Arthur’s cot. 

Arthur rubbed the coonhound’s ears before getting into his own bed. Sleep, however, eluded him, and it wasn’t from a lack of trying. He was exhausted from all that had happened, and despite trying all the tricks he knew for over two hours, his mind continued to race with too many thoughts. Sleep was far from his reach, and he rubbed his face before staring up at the canvas ceiling he’d come to know all too well. 

It was almost thirty minutes later when he’d finally started to drift off when a pained groan reached his ears. Arthur’s eyes shot open as he bolted upright, ears straining for the source of the sound. Another followed soon after, and it was only then that he realized it was John. The kid had a grimace carved into his features. He was no doubt having a nightmare, and Arthur was tempted to let him be until he recalled the way Hosea had comforted him more nights than he could count when he was younger.

He heaved a sigh and begrudgingly reached down to touch the kid’s shoulder. When that didn’t wake him, he rubbed it as he gently shushed him. John awoke with a start, shaking in his bedroll. Arthur felt the walls surrounding his heart crumble further, and he cursed himself for it. There was no reason for him to care as much as he did for John, yet the wide dark eyes that met his only pulled harder at his heartstrings. Hardly a day had passed, and while Arthur hated to admit it, he realized that he was willing to do far more for John than he ought to. 

“You’re alright, John, was just a nightmare,” he said. As the boy regained his grasp on reality, Arthur started to pull his hand away only for John to desperately clutch it and press his face against it.

Arthur clenched his jaw. He wanted to be selfish, to rip his arm out of John’s grasp, and to tell him to get over it. The kid wasn’t the only one whose sleep was plagued by nightmares. Why did Arthur have to be the one to do something about it? He didn’t owe anything to the kid. Hell, he had already gone out of his way more than he needed to. After all, John had been Dutch’s idea.

Yet, staring into those watery eyes, Arthur found himself vividly remembering when he’d been too scared to sleep, had been haunted by the ghosts of his past. How desperate he used to be for any semblance of comfort, and how grateful he had been when Hosea had graciously given that comfort he had yearned for.

After a long moment, Arthur pulled his hand out of John’s and scooted over as far as he could on his cot. The boy blinked, completely stunned by the wordless invitation. Yet he didn’t wait to be asked twice as he scrambled out of his bedroll to crawl into the empty space. Arthur tensed as the boy snuggled close to him. As his small hands gripped his shirt, Arthur forced himself to relax as he tentatively wrapped an arm around John the way he remembered Hosea used to with him. He hesitantly pulled him closer despite the way John smelled. Yet feeling the way John’s ribs stuck out against his arm helped him overpower the stench. 

Arthur closed his eyes as John wiggled closer, and he found himself pulled into a deep sleep without realizing it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy FRICK it took far more chapters than I thought it would to get to this point, but the feral raccoon babey has finally arrived :3
> 
> Also it just occurred to me that this is almost at 100k words, and I am so thankful for you all for sticking around ;;


	20. Truce

Arthur blinked open his eyes to find his tent brightly illuminated by the morning sun. He furrowed his brow as he tried to guess the time. The birdsong wasn’t as loud and lively as it was in the early mornings, and it occurred to him that he had slept longer than usual. He ran a hand over his face and rubbed his closed eyes in an attempt to discard what drowsiness still clung to him. It left him all at once, however, when he felt his shirt damply clinging to his shoulder. Arthur frowned and lifted his hand to find the reason why. He instantly scowled. John had pillowed his head there, and there was a growing wet spot seeping into the blue cotton from his drooling. Arthur had half a mind to shove him off the cot and back onto his perfectly good bedroll. The thought was tempting as he eyed the scrawny kid, knowing how effortless it would be to send him to the ground.

It was with a twinge of regret that he let John be, carefully untangling himself from him. Arthur decided that silently dealing with the inconvenience of a shirt with a spit stain would be better than the scolding that he’d no doubt face and the racket that would follow from pushing John onto the floor. The boy would probably bite him anyway, and Arthur still wasn’t entirely convinced that John didn’t have some kind of disease.

He swapped out his shirt for one without a spit-soaked shoulder and put on his hat before stepping out into the soft morning light. Through the leaves that quivered in the breeze, he admired how the clear sky vibrantly showed off the deep blue it had donned. He made his way over to the cookfire as he finished tucking in his shirt and helped himself to a cup of coffee. He breathed in its aroma before turning to join Hosea, who was seated at a wooden table. 

Hosea spent most mornings sitting there, no longer leaving first thing in the morning like he used to before he left for almost a year. Arthur figured the change was partly, or mostly, due to Bessie. He let the thought linger as he sat in a chair across from him. Love did plenty of strange things to people. Although, Arthur had only caught a brief glimpse of what that was like, and the thought left him feeling as bitter as the coffee in his hands as he remembered how he’d ruined that for himself. 

Hosea looked up from his book and quirked an eyebrow at him. Yet the dark shadow that had passed over Arthur’s features was gone before he could be certain of what he saw. Instead, he settled for a quip and a smile in an attempt to pull Arthur out of what seemed to be deep musings. “Morning sleeping beauty.”

As expected, he earned an eye roll from Arthur as he lifted his tin cup to his lips. “Mornin’.”

“Seems like you slept well last night,” he mused casually. 

Arthur’s nose wrinkled, determined to keep his veneer steady despite knowing Hosea saw right through it. The truth was that he'd slept better last night than he had in months. “Little brat had to be coddled like a toddler.”

Hosea fought against the smile that threatened to pull at the corner of his mouth. “You could’ve kicked him out of your tent if he was that much trouble.”

“And get scolded by Dutch? I’d rather forgo sleep altogether.” Sleepless nights were nothing new to him, and even now, he still felt an edge from the way Dutch had looked at him the other day.

He furrowed his brow at that as the mirth in his eyes left. “Listen, Arthur, don’t go bearing all the weight of this situation on your shoulders. Sure, John is fond of you, but he isn’t your responsibility.” 

And yet, he felt responsible nonetheless. Arthur wished he knew why, but the puzzling predicament would simply have to be yet another to add to his growing list of unanswered questions. The facts were that John was here to stay for now, that the kid found him trustworthy despite his bristly demeanor, and that he’d sooner hang than face Dutch’s wrath.

At least he was heavy enough for the rope.

Arthur washed down the thought with more coffee before clearing his throat. “What was Miss Grimshaw yelling at Dutch about yesterday?”

He shrugged as his eyes lowered to his book. “Just the usual, you know how those two are.”

Arthur frowned as he stared at the dark liquid in his cup. Hosea had been purposefully vague despite witnessing their argument firsthand, but he was thankful that the older outlaw hadn’t outright lied to him. Despite his silver tongue, Arthur knew he could always count on Hosea for the truth, or at least bits of it. His unspecific answer confirmed what little Arthur had overheard. He was somehow involved in whatever had ruffled Susan’s feathers. Knowing that left an uneasy feeling in his gut, unsure of what role he played in all that was unfolding. 

Hosea glanced up at Arthur to find the dark cloud that hovered over him more often than not had returned, and he sighed. He could practically hear the young man’s thoughts. “It’s nothing to worry about, Arthur. Susan was merely expressing her concern for you.”

He only nodded as his shoulders lowered, thankful for the information Hosea felt free to divulge. Arthur opened his mouth to express his gratitude when he heard his name shouted. His muscles instinctively tensed before he realized the sound had come from his tent. He groaned and stayed where he was. Unfortunately, unlike most of his problems, John could not be ignored. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw John pull the canvas flap just enough to peer through. Even in his peripheral, he looked terrified, and there was no mistaking the visible relief that came over John when he spotted Arthur. Yet John visibly tensed again as he warily studied Hosea. The man only offered a warm smile before his gaze returned to his book once more, feigning disinterest in the skittish boy who had finally decided to show his face. 

His hopes for a peaceful morning were dashed as John decided to brave the world outside their tent. Arthur frowned at himself. No, that was _his _tent. John was simply a wayfaring nuisance who’d made himself at home in his space. He was like a pest that had been invited into their makeshift home, and Arthur couldn't tell if it was the aftertaste of coffee or his own bitterness that he tasted on his tongue. 

John kept his stare on Hosea as he crept over, and it took all of Arthur’s willpower not to purposefully startle him once he sat in a chair beside him. Doing so would no doubt earn a cutting look from Hosea, and while Dutch’s dark and stormy anger was one thing, Hosea’s disappointment was always more scathing than any fire. 

Hosea spoke without looking up from his book. “It’s John, right?”

He slowly nodded.

“I’m Hosea. Make yourself at home, I promise you we don’t bite.”

Arthur snorted. “The only one who bites here is you, John.”

Hosea lifted his eyes to shoot Arthur a warning look as John scowled at him. Yet he ignored their heated stares and chuckled into his tin cup before finishing his coffee. His amusement, however, was stolen from him in a flash as John snatched the hat from his head and bolted. Hosea laughed as Arthur swore loudly and chased after him. He distantly heard the man tell him not to hurt John as he followed the boy further into the woods. The kid swiftly avoided trees as he ran, easily jumping over fallen trunks. If Arthur wasn’t consumed by his frustration, he would’ve been impressed by how agile John was. 

Yet, his escape was as fleeting as Arthur’s thought. John was nimble, but he was lanky nonetheless. As he jumped over a fallen tree, he underestimated his long legs. His foot caught on a jutting root, and he tumbled to the ground, skidding in the dirt. His eyes flew wide as Arthur crouched over him and grabbed a fistful of his shirt. John instantly dropped the hat when he did, arms swinging up to shield himself. While unintentional, his fist collided with Arthur’s chin, and he cursed as he felt a sharp pain where his teeth had come together on his tongue.

Arthur glared at John as he returned his hat to his head and hauled him onto his feet. He apologized profusely as his hands tried to remove Arthur’s white-knuckled grip on him. Drawing a deep breath through his nose, Arthur opened his mouth to let loose a verbal lashing when his eyes settled on the bruise around his neck. It was now a deep violet, just barely hidden behind his dark hair and a stark reminder of how Dutch had found him. His ire evaporated at the sight, and he swallowed hard as his grip on John shifted to his shoulder. Arthur could feel him trembling underneath his hand, and he sighed as he gently brushed the dirt and twigs off his shirt.

“Listen,” he started as he met John’s dark eyes, “I ain’t gonna hurt you. You just pissed me off.”

The familiar fire that often lit his eyes returned as his brows drew tightly together. “Then why’d you chase me like that?”

“You stole my hat and ran off!” Arthur could feel his anger bubbling underneath the surface again, a reminder that it hadn’t completely left him.

“It’s just a dumb hat!” He spat. “I was gonna give it back, anyway!”

His lip curled ever so slightly at that, and it was his tightening hold on John’s shoulder that told him how wrong he was, a warning to leave the sore topic alone. It was all he needed as he maintained his heated eye contact with John, deliberately adjusting his hat before letting him go and stalking his way back to camp. There was a small part of him that was glad John had the sense to follow him. He could hear his lighter steps as he trailed behind him. 

Hosea made no attempt to hide that he’d been watching the edge of camp waiting for their return. He offered Arthur a smile despite how disgruntled he looked. “You didn’t rough him up too badly, did you?” 

“He got off easy,” Arthur huffed as he continued his march over to Boadicea. Determined to release his anger one way or another, he took off to go hunting without another word. 

-

In the weeks that followed, Arthur swore he’d been cursed with another shadow. John was growing more confident and comfortable among the others, but not even that kept him from sticking closer to Arthur than a hound on a scent trail. Dutch had assured him that he would warm up to the kid, that the two of them would feel closer than brothers by the end of the month, but as the days became warmer, Arthur found his resentment rooting itself deeper and deeper in his heart. 

It was no secret that Dutch had taken a special liking to John. Not that he could blame them. The two of them had a similar fiery spirit, impulsive and lacking finesse when emotions rose to the surface. Yet Arthur couldn’t help the ache in his heart as he watched Dutch genuinely dote and encourage John as any decent father would. Dutch took his time teaching John how to read and write, patiently helping him read books that were far easier than Evelyn Miller. Arthur couldn’t help himself from watching them with narrowed eyes from the far edge of their camp, a cigarette between his fingers with its end smoldering like his ire. Their relationship was salt in a festering wound he didn’t realize existed, and the way Dutch beamed at John cut him deeper than any knife ever could. 

Arthur tried to keep to himself most days, but that didn’t deter Hosea from dragging him out of camp for various reasons. Whether it was a hunting trip or riding into town, Hosea was determined to spend time with him. Arthur suspected that Hosea had also noticed where Dutch was spending most of his time, and it didn’t take much for the man to find the source of Arthur’s sour mood. 

While Arthur appreciated Hosea’s efforts, there was still a part of him that yearned to please Dutch the way John could. The kid didn’t even have to try to receive the very same thing Arthur had been trying to earn for years. Of course, there had been moments when he’d gained Dutch’s approval, but it always left as quickly as it came, staying just out of his reach. Dutch only felt pride for the things Arthur did, and was only proud of what he was capable of. John couldn’t even write his own name, let alone hold a knife properly, and yet he had gained all that Arthur had been striving for in less than a month.

The better half of Arthur knew he couldn’t blame John for Dutch’s actions. If anything, the kid was completely oblivious to the disparity in the gang leader’s affections. Arthur tried to be civil about it, continuing to let John sleep in his tent without complaint. The bedroll stayed rolled up in the corner of their tent most nights, and while there were times when Arthur would make a show of grumbling over John’s wriggling and drooling as he climbed into the cot, he never denied him the space by his side. As much as his presence helped pacify John’s nightmares, he found that the effect was mutual, although Arthur would sooner die than admit such a thing.

As the days passed, Arthur could tell that summer was on the horizon. He could feel it in the heavy air and see it in the trees that were thick with leaves that had become a deep green. He removed his hat from his head and set it on the table as he ran a hand through his hair. Across from him, he caught John eyeing his black gambler hat. His brow was furrowed, easily revealing his curiosity. John was always an open book, and the corner of Arthur’s mouth quirked upward in a small grin. 

“You gonna steal my hat again?” 

John wrinkled his nose at the harmless accusation. “No! I just can’t figure out why you wear that hat so much.”

“Maybe I like it,”

“It looks old and smells,”

He frowned. “How do you know it smells?”

“Because it’s old,” he huffed, as if Arthur was an idiot for not seeing that. He picked it up and examined it with a hard squint, his fingers running over the nicks in the worn leather. “Where the hell did you find it?” 

Arthur heaved a sigh as he leaned forward. He mulled over his words as he let John examine the only decent thing his father left him. “It was my daddy’s. I took it when he was killed.”

John’s eyes flicked up to his. “Hosea ain’t your father?” 

“No!” He laughed. “But I guess he might as well be.”

He studied the hat once more. “Can I take your hat if you get killed?”

“Hey! I ain’t dead yet!” Arthur snapped as he yanked the hat out of John’s grasp with a frown. He then returned it to his head with a shake of his head. “Besides, you ain’t my brother. Why would I give it to you?”

John deflated the instant the comment left his lips, and Arthur internally winced at his own words. Even he had to admit that they were cold, and while he knew he should apologize, he didn’t. Instead, he wordlessly stood and headed toward the hitching posts.

“Where are you heading, Arthur?” 

He turned to find Bessie watching him. She was playing poker with Annabelle and Susan, her cards laid face down on the table. All three of them now had their eyes on him. 

“I haven’t decided yet,”

Bessie flashed him a knowing smile. “Why don’t you join us in the meantime, then?”

“It’s been a while,” Annabelle added. “I wonder if you’ve forgotten all the tricks I’ve shown you.”

A smirk pulled at the corner of Arthur’s mouth as he sat in a chair beside Susan. “Guess you’ll have to find out.”

Bessie grinned and dealt him in the next round. It had been a while since Arthur had joined them, and even longer since she’d seen the youthful look that flickered in his eye now as he studied his cards. In the last two years, Arthur had started to look older than he was, and not for the best either. Oftentimes, he seemed weighed down, a mixture of regret and anger churning behind his eyes. John’s arrival didn’t seem to help, but Bessie knew that the young man beside her simply needed time to adjust. Arthur was kind-hearted underneath the gruff exterior he was determined to wear, and it was only a matter of time before he warmed up to John. With having a younger brother herself, she had a good idea of the feelings Arthur was wrestling with. Dutch wasn’t helping either. While John needed every ounce of the man’s attention and teaching, Bessie knew firsthand how it could easily appear as favoritism. 

She’d brought up the topic with Hosea, and without hesitation, he started to make more of an effort to get Arthur out of camp with just the two of them. Bessie also pulled him into different outings, and when Arthur had questioned her on it, she had merely shrugged and told him the truth. She enjoyed his company, watching him come out of his jaded shell was an added benefit. Bessie hadn't told him the latter, knowing that addressing the topic would only cause Arthur to shrink further inward.

“That boy John isn’t giving you too much trouble, is he?” Susan asked as she added more chips into the pot. 

Arthur shrugged. “Not really.”

Bessie raised an eyebrow at that as she turned over a community card. “You don’t sound too sure of that.”

Another shrug.

“You know you don’t have to pretend everything’s fine just because Dutch fawns over him,” Susan added sharply.

He straightened himself as he decided to bluff what he had in his hand by raising the bet. “I’m fine, I don’t need to be fussed over.”

Annabelle cast him a skeptical look over her cards as she went all in. “You have a terrible poker face in more ways than one, Arthur.”

Arthur muttered under his breath and folded before crossing his arms over his chest. She was right, but he was thankful the three of them didn’t press him to open the box he was determined to keep sealed shut.

-

It was about a week later when Dutch asked Arthur to take John with him into town for a supply run. Miraculously, Arthur was somehow able to hold back the snide remark on his tongue. Instead of asking when he’d become John’s caregiver, he replied with a strained ‘yessir’ before walking over to where John was playing with Copper in the grass. Arthur unceremoniously pulled John to his feet by his arm without a word, and John yelped in surprise as he instinctively fought against the hand around his thin arm.

“C’mon, Dutch wants me to take you into town,”

“Why?” He barked, still struggling against Arthur’s unyielding grasp.

“Ask him, not me!” He retorted. “I don’t know why he wants _me _to play wet nurse but—_ow!_ Hey!” Arthur instantly let go as he felt teeth sink into his wrist. He swore under his breath as he glanced at the indents before snagging John by the back of his shirt collar like a dog. “Marston, I swear if you bite me one more time, I’m gonna hogtie you and use you as predator bait!”

John scoffed as he twisted himself in Arthur’s hold. “You wouldn’t! You don’t have the balls!” 

Arthur opened his mouth to snarl out another threat that was as empty as the first when John slipped out of his shirt. He stared wide-eyed at first, the shirt hanging like a ghost in his hand, before chasing after John, who was now running shirtless through camp. He turned over a chair as he ran, and Arthur saw it before he could react. With a grunt, he tumbled over it into the grass and exhaled a long string of swears. Ignoring the sharp pain in his knee, he pulled himself up and continued his pursuit. John, despite his speed and smartassery, didn’t get too far before he ran right into Dutch. However, it was John who was sent to the ground as Dutch stood there at a loss for words looking like he’d just witnessed a second-rate circus act.

“I thought our standards were higher than,” he gestured vaguely to John shirtless on the ground and Arthur, who was panting behind him with his shirt still in hand, “whatever the hell this is.”

“Arthur’s trying to drag me into the city!” John blurted.

“He don’t believe that you told me to take him,” 

Dutch shook his head and pulled John onto his feet. “Please, John, you know Arthur wouldn’t hurt you. Go on, tell him, Arthur.”

Arthur tossed the shirt to John with a deep frown. “I ain’t gonna hurt you.”

“See?”

“Yet,”

“Arthur!” Dutch scolded.

“C’mon, Dutch! I’m only jokin’!” He groaned as he raised his hands to emphasize that he meant no harm. 

As John pulled his shirt over his head, Arthur went over and unhitched their horses. Dutch had bought John his own horse a few days ago, a strawberry roan filly with a feisty personality to match his own. He’d named her Rosie, and when Arthur snickered, Hosea had gently reminded him of the name he’d given his dog. As much as he hated to admit it, the man had a point, and Arthur didn’t mention it again. John and Rosie were two peas in a pod, except John was the only person he knew who was jumpier than most horses.

They rode out to Mason City and stopped at the general store that was nestled between a tailor and a bookstore with a saloon across the street. The brick buildings lined either side of the dirt road, only reaching two stories at most. Unlike Chicago and Milwaukee, most of the storefronts looked the same. Mason City had the look of a town that was fumbling to accommodate the unexpected influx of people. The newer buildings on the corner and on the other side of the street stood out like a sore thumb, sporting a lighter color brick with awnings stretching over the sidewalk. 

Arthur’s attention was pulled away from the buildings when someone yelled at John to move out of the way. He turned in his saddle to find John coiling up with a sharp retort. Arthur quickly leaned over to take his horse’s reins and steered them both closer to the sidewalk to let the impatient carriage driver by. John scowled at him and leaned over to punch him in the shoulder. Arthur dodged his clenched fist, and when John tried again, he misjudged his momentum and fell right off his horse. 

While Boadicea was unphased by the commotion, Rosie reared. Arthur’s eyes widened, dismounting without thinking twice, and jumping into action. As John lied on the ground and remembered how to breathe, Arthur stood over him to keep the filly from crushing him. Calming her was no easy task, yet he managed to do it all the same before hauling John onto his feet. He coughed as Arthur held him steady by his shoulders, his eyes looking him over for any injuries.

“The hell is wrong with you?” He snapped. “You alright?”

John pouted up at him before slugging his arm. Arthur exhaled a soft ‘ow’ under his breath as he glared down at him. “I know how to ride my own horse!”

“You also know how to start shit,” he said wryly. “We’re trying to stay low, you brat, so don’t go startin’ fights. You leave that to me, alright?”

“Why you?” 

“Because it’s the one thing I’m good at,” he muttered as he took both sets of reins and walked the horses to a hitching post.

John was uncharacteristically silent as he followed, and he waited for Arthur to finish tying the reins around the metal rings before he finally decided to speak up. “That ain’t true.”

The comment had Arthur’s head swiveling so fast in his direction that he nearly gave himself whiplash. He wrinkled his nose as John toed a rock loose from the dirt road, avoiding his scrutinizing gaze. “What?” 

“You’re good at drawing,”

“And how’d you reckon that?” He was suddenly suspicious of John, and he couldn’t help the way it seeped into his tone. It was the nicest thing John had said to him, but it didn’t take much for Arthur to connect the dots.

He tensed as he rolled the rock underneath his foot. “I’ve seen your journal.”

Any concern he’d had for the kid earlier left him like a flushed bird, his anger returning tenfold. “You looked through my journal?” 

John took a step closer to Rosie as if hoping the skittish filly would provide some sort of protection. His voice was barely louder than a whisper when he spoke. “It was open on your table.”

He narrowed his eyes as he tried to take even breaths through his nose. His face was surely red with the heat of his ire. However, Arthur couldn’t bring himself to do anything about it. Watching John curling in on himself, he knew he’d regret lashing out. Instead of cursing him or wringing his neck, he turned and pushed open the wooden door of the general store. Arthur didn’t waste time getting what was needed, and he didn’t bother to look over his shoulder to see if John had followed. He reasoned he would be in and out of the grocer’s place anyway. The list Dutch had given him that morning only had a handful of items, and once Arthur had paid the clerk, he left the store and froze when he didn’t see John. 

Arthur swallowed back the rising panic. Rosie was still hitched beside Boadicea, which meant John couldn’t be far. He turned to his right and instantly relaxed when he found John with his nose nearly pressed to the tailor’s window. Arthur shook his head and sidled up to the kid. His eyes searched for what had captivated John before settling on a gray gambler hat. His gaze shifted to John once more, his eyes still glued on the hat as he ignored him. 

He eyed the gray gambler once more before focusing on his reflection in the window. Arthur frowned at himself, realizing how he’d been an ass to John. They were both rough around the edges, and while John could be downright infuriating, Arthur reminded himself of everything that John had to be processing. He only knew a glimpse of his past, but Arthur wasn’t even sure if it counted as the past with how recent that was. John had told him bits and pieces of his life when he’d wake from a nightmare, but other than that, Arthur had no idea. 

Words weren’t his strong suit, never had been. An apology was long overdue, but he couldn’t imagine how saying sorry could ever be enough. In light of his behavior towards John, simply saying two words felt meaningless. With that, he made up his mind and entered through the tailor’s door. Arthur could feel John’s stare on him as he talked to the man behind the counter. It was a struggle to hold back a grin as the kid’s face lit up when the mustached gentleman picked up the hat he’d favored. Even in his peripheral, it was impossible for Arthur to miss the hopeful look in his eye. 

Of course, Arthur couldn’t bring himself to lower his walls too much. He took his time as he chatted with the friendly gentleman who was more than happy to carry on with frivolous small talk. They chatted about the care needed for the hat, how nice the warm weather had been, how the gentleman’s brother employed at a Lee and Hoyt banking house in Springfield was doing well. Arthur could practically feel John’s impatience as he shifted his weight, forehead pressed against the glass. There was now a mark on the window, and Arthur drew out the conversation some more by mentioning how he was sorry for the mess his friend was making on his window. 

Once he’d felt that John had endured enough torture, he paid the gentleman and thanked him. When he left the store, he looked over at John with a raised eyebrow. His dark eyes practically shone with delight, which only made Arthur’s smirk wider as he removed his own hat and placed the new one on his head. John’s face fell instantly as they made eye contact. 

For good measure, Arthur tipped the new hat at him. John snapped, and he ran over to Arthur and pulled at his shirt as he tried to reach the gray gambler. The top of Arthur’s head was just out of his reach, which left John pulling on his shoulder in an attempt to climb him. His desperate efforts made Arthur laugh as he tried to shield himself from John’s hands. 

“For chrissakes, John!” He managed to say between bits of laughter as he removed the hat only to lift it higher into the air. With his other hand, still gripping his own gambler, he tried to keep John at bay. “Settle down! I’m only teasin’ you!”

John eased up on his attack, although he kept one hand fisted in Arthur’s rolled up sleeve as he narrowed his eyes. 

“Here,” he said as he plopped the hat onto his head with a grin. “Maybe you’ll grow into it someday.”

The glimmer in his eyes returned, and John smiled as he made a vain attempt to adjust the hat. “You think so?”

“Sure, but it’s a wonder you ain’t thick-headed enough for it already,”

His smile shifted into a frown as he punched his arm. “You’re a jerk!”

Arthur only laughed again as he mounted his horse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for your patience with this update! I was out of commission for a few days with what I think was a small virus? All I know is that is was painful as heck, and I was thrilled to be able to write again a few days ago!
> 
> The next update may also be briefly delayed since I want to take the time to map out everything. I honestly wasn't expecting to write this much, and I want to make sure that everything makes sense.😊
> 
> Thank you for taking the time to read this!! Your support is greatly appreciated! 💛
> 
> **Update:**
> 
> HECK I nearly forgot to credit the scene with Arthur talking to John about his hat to the wonderful julientel!! I based that scene off a wonderful comic they drew!! [Here's the link!](https://julientel.tumblr.com/post/614494918115753984/yeah-not-your-brother-you-sure-about-that)
> 
>   
Also, the last scene was inspired by another comic drawn by the amazing ppitte [that you can find here!](https://ppitte.tumblr.com/post/186242119547/when-life-gives-you-a-little-brother-my-twitter)


	21. Like Old Times

Annabelle stood outside the tent she shared with Dutch, smiling around her cigarette as she watched John and Arthur from afar. The wide smirk Arthur wore was one she knew well. While she couldn't make out their conversation, it was clear as crystal to her that Arthur was up to no good. He was undoubtedly toying with John, although she couldn't tell if Arthur was cheating or teaching John made-up rules. Her bets were on both. While Arthur was kind to his core, the young man could be downright mischievous. John looked up to him, and Annabelle wouldn't put it past Arthur to take advantage of his trust. 

Her grin widened when she felt Dutch’s lips graze her cheek. “Good Morning.”

“A good morning indeed,” he mused, “though the sun’s morning light could never shine as bright as you.”

She laughed at that. “Ever the romantic!”

Dutch smiled as he wrapped an arm around her waist. His eyes then followed her gaze to Arthur and John at the table. Of course, Arthur’s smirk didn’t go unnoticed by him either, and he snorted to himself. “What are those boys up to?”

“Looks like a card game,” she replied, opting to rest her head against his shoulder. “And by the looks of it, not an honest one.”

“Of course, Arthur’s only clever when he wants to be,”

While his tone was light, Annabelle was unable to hold back the reply on her tongue. “He’s more intent on following orders than showing off, but there’s no doubt that he’s clever.”

“Now I didn’t say he _wasn’t _clever,”

“This is true, but Arthur deserves more credit than you give him,” she grinned as she smoothed his new vest. It was a vibrant, deep shade of red, one of two that he’d bought when he’d taken John into town for new clothes. After Arthur had bought the boy a hat, Dutch hadn’t hesitated to take John out that same week for a few shirts and a pair of jeans without holes. 

“Alright, I’ll give you that,”

She shook her head as John lunged across the table to get at Arthur, who only laughed and dodged his attack. “You know, it’s been a while since you’ve done something with just the two of you.”

“Has it?”

Annabelle nodded. 

Dutch didn’t want to accept it, but he knew she was right. Annabelle usually was, but his pride kept him from admitting that fact. He had been so caught up in making John feel at home that he hadn't even considered such a thing. He gently brushed her dark hair away from her face to press his lips to her temple. “What would I do without you?” 

A soft laugh fell from her lips. “I can only imagine! Hosea needs all the help he can get reining you in.”

He scoffed. “I ain’t that bad!”

She rolled her eyes and gave him a push towards Arthur, who had John pinned to the ground, face in the dirt with his hands behind his back. Dutch flashed her a grin over his shoulder before making his way over to his two boys wrestling in the dirt. John didn’t stand a chance against Arthur’s broad and filled-out stature. He’d witnessed firsthand how Arthur was a force to be reckoned with, and he couldn’t help but laugh, knowing that the young man was taking it _easy _on John. While the kid had the tenacity of someone twice his size, it didn’t lessen his scrawniness in the slightest. 

“What was that you were sayin’ again?” Arthur asked with a wide, shit-eating grin.

“I said you were a no-good, rotten, cheatin’ lying sonuva—”

“Now I hate to interrupt whatever this is,” Dutch said, “but our savings are running low and we need to make a few quick bucks. What do you say, Arthur?” 

Arthur’s head whipped up to meet Dutch’s smiling eyes, unsure if he had heard him correctly. His grip on John’s wrists loosened as he processed the request, and the boy managed to turn and kick him in the gut before running off to their tent. Arthur winced as the wind was sucked from his lungs, and Dutch only laughed as he helped him onto his feet. He brushed the dirt off him from his tousle with John and clapped him on the back. 

“So? Will you join me?”

“Always,” he answered as he straightened himself. “Whatever you need.”

His smile grew wider, nearly stretching from ear to ear. “That’s my boy!”

Arthur hesitated as a thought crossed his mind. “Did you want to take John too?” 

“No, just the two of us, like old times. Besides, he’s too young for that stuff.”

Like clockwork, they saddled up their horses and rode out. As they headed towards Mason City, Arthur couldn’t help but eye Dutch and wonder what had inspired his spontaneous idea. “So, what’s the plan?” 

He shrugged. “Well, I was thinking we’d scout out the saloon and see what folks we could rob.”

“I thought we were trying to stay low,”

“Arthur,” he chided, “this is nothing compared to the jobs we used to pull! We’ll be fine. You just keep your shirt on and follow my lead. You ain’t forgotten all that we’ve taught you, right?”

“Of course, not!”

“Good, we’re keeping this one civilized, so keep your hands off your weapons,”

Arthur muttered under his breath, the words failing to reach Dutch’s ears between their two steeds and their pounding hooves. He was old enough to know better by now, and he couldn’t help but bristle at Dutch for assuming he’d forgotten the consequences of his past mistakes. 

They hitched their horses by the saloon. It was a two-story building, and Arthur had been inside it more times than he could count. His bar fighting habit had completely left him after his last run-in with the O’Driscolls, and swearing that kept Hosea from pestering him too much about his visits to the establishment. Although it was because of those visits that he knew the patterns of the regular patrons who came and went. As he and Dutch leaned against the bar, Arthur was able to pick them out from the small crowd. He knew their patterns and habits by now and had even pinpointed a few of the stranger’s weaknesses. 

Once the bartender had given them their beer and left them to chat with a few other customers at the far end of the counter, Arthur discreetly gestured to the men seated in the far corner by the windows. “Those men over there ain’t so good at cards once they’ve got two drinks in them.” He said in a low voice. “The man playing the piano would believe you if you told him the word ‘gullible’ was written on the ceiling, and the clerk who works at the bookstore visits this joint too many times to even read the bills you hand him.”

Dutch cocked an eyebrow, pride glimmering in his eyes. “Well, look at you! Why didn’t you tell me you were staking out this place?” 

Arthur only shrugged as he took a swig from the bottle in his hand. He wished he could say he knew those details intentionally. With how often he visited the saloon, it was impossible to miss the comings and goings of the locals.

He chuckled to himself before lifting his own beer to his lips. “Since you’ve been the one eying this joint, I’ll let you take point on this.”

“What?” He asked with a frown. “I thought you wanted to make the calls.”

“I trust you, son,” he replied. “Just say the word, and we’ll move in on one of the hapless fools you’ve been watching.”

Arthur eyed the patrons he’d mentioned with renewed interest, feeling his pulse quicken in anticipation. It’d been a while since they’d let him do any thieving or swindling, and it took him off guard when he realized that he actually missed it.

Considering the time of day was one thing, and keeping a reputable presence within the saloon’s walls was another. Conning the man at the piano would be unwise if he wanted to continue being served by the bartender without potentially being arrested. The men in the corner had only water at their table, ruling them out and leaving the questionable bookstore clerk as their best option. 

“The clerk,” Arthur finally said. “We’ll have the most luck going unnoticed there.”

“Good!” He crooned. “And what’s your plan for when we’re inside?” 

He studied the wood grain of the counter as he weighed their options. “You distract him while I sneak behind the register. He’s probably had his second drink by now, and even if he’s sober, he ain’t all there.”

“Well, I’ll be damned! For an improvised plan, that’s quite impressive, Arthur!” 

Arthur couldn’t help the wide grin that spread across his face, soaking in Dutch’s praise like soil starved of water. 

When they finished their beer, they crossed the quiet street and entered the bookstore. The gentleman behind the register looked up from what looked to be a list of the store’s inventory. It was a struggle for him to focus his bleary-eyed gaze on them as he offered them a welcoming smile. 

“What can I do for you today?” He asked.

Dutch easily mirrored his friendly demeanor. “I was wondering if you could point me in the direction of some classics that you might have. I’ve rediscovered a passion for reading, and I’ve heard you give the best recommendations around.” 

“That I do!” He replied as he gestured for Dutch to follow him. “You seem like the philosophical sort, and as luck would have it, a few new copies of Whitman and Emmerson just arrived earlier this week.”

Arthur rolled his eyes as the clerk led Dutch to the back of the store. If only the man knew. He eyed the door and windows. Thanks to the two large book displays in either window, only the tops of heads were visible as people walked by. No one would see a thing unless they stepped inside, and after waiting for Dutch to lure the man into a deep and lengthy conversation, he slipped around the counter and quietly opened the register drawer. Arthur could have easily cleaned out the register with how thoroughly distracted the gentleman was. While Hosea had a silver-tongue, Dutch could talk about nothing for hours and _still _manage to hold the attention of his victims. Yet, he knew better than to underestimate a drunk man. Taking everything from the cash register would be too obvious, and so Arthur carefully thinned out the stacks to make them appear to be untouched. Any decent accountant would've known better, but the man was only an intoxicated bookstore owner whose reputation held little to no weight at all. Even if he decided to report the missing cash, Arthur was confident nothing would be done. 

Glancing up, Arthur tucked the bills into his shirt and gently closed the register drawer. The two men were still chatting, and Arthur decided to peruse the books on a shelf along the opposite wall and waited for them to return to the counter. It didn’t come as a surprise to him when he saw Dutch actually purchase a book, and he eventually returned to his side as the outlaw handed the clerk the cash. He thanked him again for the book recommendation, and when Arthur glanced at the book out of curiosity, it took all he could to restrain his amusement. It was an Evelyn Miller book. The gentleman had hit the nail on the head for Dutch, and Arthur found himself toying with the idea of visiting the bookstore some other time to see what recommendation the owner would make to him. 

Once they were out of the store owner's line of sight, Dutch wrapped an arm around his shoulders and laughed. “That was almost too easy! You did an excellent job back there.”

Arthur could feel the genuine praise gently uproot the bitterness he’d sowed into his heart. He felt foolish that Dutch’s approval was all it took to pacify the wounds that had been festering for so long. Yet, there was nothing he could do to ignore the desire to please his mentor, and when he did manage to do so, the rush was always better than any score or fight he’d won. “Thanks, Dutch.”

Dutch smiled at him, noticing how Arthur seemed genuinely happy for the first time in a while. It reminded him of a fern unfurling for the sun and was truly a sight to behold. “Say, you wait here while I step inside the general store. I want to celebrate this moment!”

There was no telling what he had planned, but Arthur couldn’t help but smile when he returned with a pack of cigarettes and two bottles of beer. Although, neither of them wanted to linger in town any longer. Yet, they didn’t ride straight to camp as Arthur had assumed they would. When he least expected it, Dutch strayed from the worn path and onto a thinner one that led them through trees and tall grass. While the sudden change in direction confused Arthur, he faithfully followed him through the brush without question, and it wasn’t long until he realized they were heading toward the river he often walked. 

Dutch dismounted beside the bank and retrieved the beer and pack of cigarettes from his saddlebag. Arthur followed suit and followed him to the river’s edge and sat beside him on the riverbank. He handed him the cigarettes while he opened their beers. After clinking them together, Arthur took a drink as he watched the water rush over the rocks. The water was clearer than usual, and every so often, he caught the glimmer of a fish’s scales reflecting the sunlight as it swam against the current. 

Arthur thoughtfully savored another swig of his beer, his gaze shifting to Dutch before settling on the river again. They couldn’t have been farther than a half-mile from camp, and it struck him as odd that they’d come all this way just to stop short. He could count on one hand the number of times in the past five months when Dutch had spent time alone with him. The question that ran through his mind was, why now? Although Arthur knew he would need to rephrase the question. Dutch would see it as an accusation, and the last thing he wanted was to ruin the outlaw’s mood, let alone the rare moment they were sharing. Yet, even so, he couldn’t completely hold back the question burning in his mind. “Why here? We ain’t that far from camp.”

“I thought we’d take a moment to celebrate you, just the two of us,” he considered him with a scrutinizing stare, “why? Is there someone, in particular, you’d like to invite?”

“No!” He quickly replied. “I was just curious.”

Dutch didn’t press him any further, but Arthur could tell he wasn’t satisfied with his answer, and he cursed himself for even asking the question at all. He withdrew a cigarette from the new pack to distract himself, striking a match on a nearby tree before lighting it. Arthur passed it to Dutch before lighting another, hoping the peace offering would smooth over his blunder. 

“So, how are you getting along with John?” Dutch asked.

“He’s fine,” he mused, “I’m just glad he’s stopped biting for now.”

He laughed at that. “I don’t think I’ve seen any kid fight quite like him! Thankfully, all you did was argue with us and give us hell, even if we were trying to help you.”

“I wasn’t used to that kind of kindness then,” Arthur said as he stared at the beer in his hand. “For the longest time, I was convinced there was a catch.”

Dutch reached over and rubbed his back. “I know, son, that’s why we didn’t really fight those battles when they came.” 

He shook his head with a scoff. “I don’t know what it was you saw in me then. You were the only one set on keeping me around.”

“That ain’t true,”

Arthur furrowed his brow as he took a long drag on his cigarette. “I overheard your conversations with Hosea some nights. I was more trouble than I was worth, still am, I guess.”

“Arthur,” Dutch sighed, feeling pity for him as he wrapped an arm around his shoulders. “You’re no trouble at all. Now sometimes you get into trouble, I’ll give you that, but not a single one of us regrets picking you up off those streets.” 

Arthur only nodded to himself, desperately trying to will himself to believe his words.

-

It had become routine for Arthur to bring John along with him whenever he went into town. The boy always asked to come, would even plead and beg Arthur to let him join him. For a while, Arthur dreaded his company. Now that John shared his tent, riding into town was usually the only time he could find peace and solitude. Yet, oddly enough, the boy only continued to grow on him. Although, if anyone asked Arthur, he would’ve compared the growth to an annoying wart, except warts were silent. At least John could now handle his horse, thanks to him. While Dutch had taught him the basics, that was the extent of his know-how. Yet riding was more than simply telling a horse what to do. There was an intuition that John hadn’t learned, and while Arthur didn’t mind teaching John the nuances of riding, it had only reminded Arthur of the life he left behind in Milwaukee. 

Mary’s letters were growing sparser in both content and quantity as the months crept by. It left Arthur fearing what was to come. Yet, he tried to ignore that fear as best as he could by letting John and camp chores consume his time. As much as he ribbed John for his running mouth, it kept his thoughts off the things that left a deep ache in his chest. 

After buying supplies at the general store, they rode farther down the street before stopping in front of the post office. It had been a week since he’d last checked for any mail, and he told John to wait outside as he dismounted Boadicea.

“I don’t like her,” John blurted as Arthur looped the reins through a hitching post’s ring.

Arthur’s eyes flicked up to John, who was still in his saddle. He frowned up at him as he straightened his hat. While he knew who he was referring to, he tried playing dumb to avoid the topic. “You ain’t makin’ sense.”

“That girl, Mary,” he said, unknowingly wading into waters he was only bound to drown in, “she don’t write to you like you write to her.”

“You been reading my letters, Marston?” An unspoken threat laced his tone like venom, yet John didn’t flinch.

“I’m just sayin’,”

As if that explained everything. Arthur clenched his fists at his side as he tried to ignore the fear that whispered in the back of his mind that John was right. “What do you know? You’re just a kid!”

John bristled at that. “I know that she ain’t like Bessie or Annabelle! I saw the money you put in the envelope last time, and she didn’t even thank you for it!” 

Arthur drew a deep breath through his nose, his anger churning like a summer storm, before ripping the reins out of his hands. Catching John snooping through his things was nothing new, and while he’d nearly throttled him for it when he caught him, John’s audacity had never stretched so far as giving him advice on things the kid couldn’t fully understand.

“Hey!” 

He ignored him as he tied the reins into a tight knot to the hitching post, one that he knew John wouldn’t be able to untie on his own. Without another word, he turned and climbed the steps to enter the post office. Inside he found the clerk passing the time by reading a book. Judging by the way the bearded gentleman lit up at his arrival, Arthur assumed it had been a slow day for him. The man raised an eyebrow when he mentioned their newest alias, Tiberius Thatch, to which Arthur quickly explained he was gathering mail for his uncle. The clerk shook his head as he muttered something about hearing stranger names before. Arthur tapped his fingers against the desk as the man searched through the alphabetized envelopes only to return with a shake of his head. 

“Sorry kid, I don’t have anything for Mr. Thatch,”

While Arthur’s heart sank, he thanked the man for his time before exiting the building with his hands in his pockets. Even as he opened the door, his eyes remained lowered to the ground, and it was only after he heard John call his name when he looked up.

The sight that greeted him left him momentarily stunned. There were two other boys with John, one restraining him from behind farther down the street to the right as the other held his collar. The boy who held John’s arms behind his back had a bloody nose, and even under the mess of dark hair, Arthur could see the black eye that had started to form on John’s face. The boy who stood in front of him slugged John in the stomach for calling out to Arthur, causing his rage to ignite and fill his veins with fire.

Arthur scowled as he stalked over. When the boy turned at the sound of his footsteps, he swung without hesitation. Arthur’s fist collided with his temple, knocking him out cold. The boy hadn’t even fully hit the concrete before Arthur shoved John out of the other’s grasp and pinned the stranger against the brick wall of a building. His eyes flew wide as Arthur unsheathed his hunting knife and discreetly pressed the blade of it to the boy’s stomach. 

“What’s your name, kid?” Arthur asked.

“O-owen,” he replied shakily.

“Didn’t you ever learn, _Owen_, to pick fights with people your own size?”

He quickly shook his head.

“You know,” he continued in a low voice, “I once heard that picking fights with people smaller than you makes you no different from an animal.” He paused and spoke slowly, dragging out each word, “do I need to gut you like an animal, Owen?” 

His face became as white as a sheet, and Arthur couldn’t help but smirk as he sheathed his knife and smoothed the boy’s shirt.

“Good, because if I ever find you so much as _breathing _the same air as either of us, I ain’t gonna be so kind. Got it?” 

He nodded and fled without another word. Arthur stared him down until he’d disappeared before turning to John. His eyes were wide as if regarding Arthur in a new light, and it left a familiar guilt pooling in the pit of Arthur’s stomach. He should’ve known better than to leave John alone. The kid was a firecracker ready to go off at any given opportunity. It came as no surprise that he’d managed to pick a fight in what felt like record time, and now John had seen a side of Arthur he had hoped to keep hidden from him for a while longer. Arthur wasn’t proud of the violence he was capable of, and yet it was one of the few things he was good at.

They stared at each other for a moment longer before Arthur signaled for him to follow with a nod of his head. 

John mounted his horse and watched Arthur work the knotted reins loose with a furrowed brow. “You helped me.”

The statement took Arthur off guard, and he looked up, hearing the unspoken question behind his words, could even see it in his eyes. The question ‘why’ burned brightly behind them, and Arthur swallowed as he avoided his bewildered gaze.

“Yeah,” he replied as he mounted Boadicea. 

“But you didn’t have to,”

“No,”

John bit his lip and fixed his eyes on Rosie’s mane. “I was the one who started the fight.”

“I know,”

A thick silence filled the air between them as they rode back to camp. They were both too rough around the edges for eloquence, too used to communicating through actions and reactions. Yet, oddly enough, Arthur’s silence answered most of the questions running through John’s mind. Arthur didn’t have to help him. Hell, it was his fault for picking the fight, but Arthur had chosen to come to his aid without hesitation. Not even his father was ever sober enough to do such a thing when he needed it, and he didn’t think anyone other than Dutch was willing to risk their own safety for him. 

Up until now, John had been convinced that Arthur barely tolerated him, had thought he only did things for him out of pity. In John’s mind, he deserved the black eye he wore for picking a fight where he was both outmuscled and outnumbered. It was a stupid mistake, and he had half expected Arthur to walk away when he’d called for help. Yet, he had stepped in and threatened the stranger’s life all on his own. It didn’t make sense to John, and it puzzled him to no end. 

The two of them were the last ones by the cookfire that night. Everyone else had turned in as the velvety darkness closed in around them, and the only thing that kept it at bay was the fire that weakly lapped at the charred wood. John watched the wood grain within the logs glow softly as they burned, idly poking at it with a stick. The silence from earlier had returned tenfold, and his eyes flicked between Arthur and the fire. 

“You didn’t tell them that I started the fight,” John said quietly.

Arthur furrowed his brow, the end of his cigarette burning a hair brighter before he took it between his fingers. “Did you want me to?” 

“No,”

He shook his head as he leaned against the log behind him, returning the cigarette to his mouth, where it hung loosely.

“I’m sorry for what I said about Mary,”

Arthur took a double-take, causing the cigarette to drop out of his mouth from the sudden movement. He swore under his breath as he quickly brushed it off his shirt and picked it up off the ground. Not once had John ever apologized to him, let alone shown remorse. To say it took him by surprise was a severe understatement, and he nearly didn’t believe the words he heard. “You’re _what?_”

John nudged the log a little harder before drawing aimless lines among the coals and ash. “It ain’t my place to say things like that.” 

He studied John for a long moment, thoughtfully taking a drag on his cigarette before exhaling a smoky sigh. “I appreciate that, but I’m afraid you ain’t wrong.”

John wrinkled his nose. “What do you mean?”

Arthur frowned and shook his head. “It’s complicated.”

He chewed his lip as he turned over another thought in his head. “Arthur?”

“Yeah?”

“Did you mean what you said to that boy?”

“Most of it,” he shrugged, “all of it if he touched you again.” The laugh that escaped John took Arthur by surprise and he frowned. “What’s so funny?”

“I didn’t think you had it in you!” He grinned. “You scared the shit out of that guy!”

Despite the swear that Grimshaw usually scolded them over, the corner of Arthur’s mouth quirked upward in a smug grin. “The look on his face _was _priceless.”

His laughter eventually subsided, and he breathed out a contented sigh. “Thank you, Arthur.”

Arthur tipped his hat. “Anytime, Marston.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope everyone is staying safe and healthy! Thank you for your patience with this delayed update and for your continued support!! <3 Have a lovely week!
> 
> Next chapter might pick up some speed, so hang in there! <3


	22. Through Thick and Thin

Hosea smiled to himself as he and Bessie strolled down Main Street. It was an overcast autumn day in Mason City, and Bessie’s laughter underneath the umbrella they shared was as soft as the rain pattering against its canopy. The town had gone quiet with the coming rain, although the two of them didn’t mind. If anything, it was pleasant to walk down the nearly empty street. It reminded Hosea of when he had tried to rejoin society as an upstanding citizen and how they would explore the different towns when traveling through the states. 

“You really don’t have to hold the umbrella, Hosea,” she said, her breath forming a faint cloud. 

“Please, it’s my pleasure,”

She grinned at that as she wrapped her arms around his arm, seeking his warmth to ward off the chill in the air. “Your charm knows no end.”

His flirtatious reply was stolen by a poster pinned to a wooden board on the side of a building up ahead. His brow furrowed as he held the umbrella out to Bessie, wordlessly asking her to take it from him. He then left the umbrella’s cover and made his way over. As he stood in the chilling rain, he felt a dread even colder settle in his gut. It was a bounty poster, and his eyes settled on Arthur’s likeness that was captured below the word ‘wanted’ spelled in bold, capital letters. Hosea swallowed and pulled the pinned poster from its nail as he read the information below the sketch of Arthur. The reward paled in comparison to other bounties he had seen, only amounting to twenty dollars for theft and fraud. However, the words that described his association with him and Dutch and their ‘misguidance’ caused his stomach to turn.

“Hosea?” Bessie asked as she made her way over. The delight that had been on his face had disappeared all at once, and she couldn’t help but notice how pale he looked.

Hosea wordlessly handed her the poster and watched with regret how her face fell. Her eyes returned to his, full of concern. 

She drew a deep breath as she gave it back to him. “When do you think this happened?” 

He shook his head. “There’s no way to know for sure, but it was bound to happen eventually.”

Bessie searched Hosea’s eyes for a moment before resting her head against his shoulder as she rubbed his back in soothing circles. She didn’t have to ask to know that he felt responsible. Hosea was an open book to her, and she could see the growing worry behind his eyes.

There was a slight tremor in his hands as he folded the paper and tucked it into his coat pocket, and in the back of his mind, he couldn’t help but wonder if taking Arthur with him when he left all those years ago would’ve prevented this. 

\--

Arthur stared hard at the poster in his hands. There was no use attempting to hide his shock. It was surreal seeing his sketched portrait staring back at him, and his wide eyes flitted up to meet Hosea’s sad ones. 

“I don’t know when these started to get posted,” Hosea supplied as if knowing the question that was on his mind. “We’ll probably start heading south to Springfield in a few days. Susan, Annabelle, and Bessie will go into town to restock what supplies we need in the meantime while we pack up camp.” He sighed and scratched the back of his head. “I know how you feel about moving, but—”

Arthur scowled and shoved the poster back into Hosea’s hands before he could finish his sentence. He headed straight for his tent, where he sat on his cot with his head in his hands. Hardly a minute had passed before he heard John barge in, and he tightly gripped his hair in frustration. The solitude he needed would never be found in camp, let alone his tent, and he quietly cursed himself for his mistake. 

“We’re moving?” John asked.

Not bothering to lift his head from his hands, he merely grunted in the affirmative.

“Why?”

Arthur drew a deep breath through his nose. He was the reason why, always was when it came to uprooting from someplace nice. Yet he didn’t trust himself to explain that to John with his bitterness and self-hatred roaring to life like a molotov breaking over dry wood. “Go harass Hosea with your questions. I ain’t in the mood!”

John frowned. He could feel the waves of Arthur’s emotions from where he stood. He wanted to press him for answers, but the strength at which they radiated off him forced John to reconsider. Not once had he seen Arthur as rattled as he was now, and it left John’s mouth dry as he left the tent to find Hosea. 

It surprised Arthur when he heard John leave, and he sighed as he pinched the bridge of his nose. He knew it was only a matter of time before he had his own bounty poster, and he was fine with that. It was moving that upset him. As grateful as he was for the gang’s concern for his safety, there was a part of him that longed for some sense of stability. It was no secret that the outlaw life was full of uncertainty, and while Arthur knew it was impossible, he always found himself foolishly hoping that maybe one day they’d find a place where they could settle down for good. 

By the third day after Hosea had found the bounty poster, they had packed up completely and were on the road to Springfield. It took them nearly half a day to get there, and it was Dutch and Hosea who set out the next day to find a suitable place to stay for a while. Winter was around the corner, and it was unwise to wait any longer to begin their search. 

They rode down an unfamiliar dirt path in silence. The tall trees on either side had donned their autumn regalia, lively with color despite their dying leaves. Eventually, Dutch's gaze shifted from the brilliant fiery hues to study Hosea. He had been quiet since they left, a telltale sign that the older outlaw was deep in thought and needed to be pulled out of his ruminating.

"What's troubling you, Hosea?"

"Nothing,"

"Horseshit,"

He sighed and shook his head. "I know Arthur's bounty was inevitable, but I guess I was foolishly hoping it wouldn't happen at all.'

"He's avoided having one for nearly eight years. For running with the likes of us for so long, I'd say that's pretty damn good."

"I suppose, but I can't help but wonder if it could've been avoided somehow," Hosea mused aloud. In the back of his mind, he knew the two of them were to blame. Hindsight told him that there were a dozen different ways they could have cared for Arthur. They weren't parents, nor did their way of life lend itself to such lofty ideas. Finding a decent home for him all those years ago would've, at the very least, set him up for a decent life. While he had at first despised the idea of taking Arthur under their wing, he now found himself selfishly refusing to let Arthur go. Guilt ate away at him at the thought, and he tried his best to ignore the vices he wrestled with.

"There are only a few ways you pay in this world, Hosea. You either work till your dead, strike it rich, or become an outlaw. Arthur's father chose the latter, which took his life and left Arthur alone on the streets." Dutch paused and met Hosea's eyes. "You remember as well as I do how much fear and fight was in that boy. He would've gotten himself killed if we hadn't taken him in."

"I guess you're right,"

"I _am _right. We saved Arthur in more ways than one."

But what if they hadn't? Arthur had nearly lost his life twice while in their care, and Hosea couldn't help but wonder if there were worse trials that awaited them further down the road. Yet he knew better than to voice his fears. Asking Dutch to go with him in search of a place was a makeshift olive branch, and the last thing Hosea wanted to do was aggravate the man. He knew what it was like to go an entire trip with a disgruntled Dutch, and he had no desire to endure that today.

"Are you and Annabelle thinking of tying the knot?" He asked, deciding to change the topic altogether. 

He shrugged. "Neither one of us are traditional like you and Bessie, but I've been thinking about getting something to show how much she means to me."

"An engagement ring would suffice," he teased.

Dutch wrinkled his nose. "Very funny, Hosea."

"You could always get her a locket,"

"Now that is easier said than done, my friend. I can't seem to find the right one."

"You'll find it when it's time," Hosea replied. "From what I can tell, she's not going anywhere anytime soon."

"You really think so?"

He smiled, finding amusement in seeing his friend so uncertain of himself. "I do."

Dutch studied him, wondering where this side of his friend had been for the last few years. While neither of them would outright admit it, they were both tired of the persistent contention and arguing. Whatever had driven a wedge between them had left them both wounded, and while Dutch couldn’t speak for Hosea, he was ready to stop letting the wound fester.

They stopped when they spotted a house further along a path that veered off to their left. Both of them observed the house in silence before Dutch finally withdrew his binoculars from his saddlebag. Hosea’s gaze shifted to focus on him. “See anything?” 

“Nothing, place looks deserted,”

“You and I both know how deceiving looks can be,”

“Especially yours,” Dutch quipped. 

He frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean?” 

Dutch only lowered his binoculars and flashed him a crooked grin before following the path. Hosea rolled his eyes and examined the house as he tailed after him. While the two-story house was smaller than the farmhouse they’d found in Chicago, he was grateful that it was at least bigger than the cabin they’d settled in years ago. Their gang wasn’t as small as it used to be, but with winter on the way, something was better than nothing. 

They dismounted and left their horses out of sight among the trees. Hosea withdrew his revolver and checked the cylinder, and Dutch did the same before glancing up at him.

"How do you want to do this?"

"Well, considering there's two floors, it would be wise to stick together. There's no telling what's inside, and I don't want you out of my line of sight."

"I'm touched," Dutch replied with a smile. "Do you want me to take the lead on this?"

"Be my guest," 

The overgrowth surrounding the house and lack of chimney smoke would’ve been a sign to any passerby that the house was abandoned. Yet, even so, they approached the house with caution. The front door that was ajar revealed the stark darkness inside, and Dutch furrowed his brow as he eased the door open. It’s hinges protested loudly against the movement, and Hosea’s grip on his revolver tightened as he scanned the shadows for any sign of movement as Dutch stepped inside. He stayed close behind as they searched the first floor, noticing that the former residents of the small homestead were a small family of five. Behind the dust and broken glass of picture frames were photos of the happy family. The remnants of the life that used to reside within the house caused Hosea to frown. Between the furniture and other items that would be valuable to any reasonable person, he was left wondering what had happened. Had they uprooted all at once? Or had they become subject to a more gruesome fate?

Yet, Hosea didn’t have the chance to explore the thought as they rounded a corner. A bedroom door down the hall swung open without warning, and a man stepped out into the hall with his revolver raised. His sights were set on Dutch, and Hosea instantly pulled him back behind the wall before the man fired. They both grunted as their backs hit the worn wallpaper. Another shot sounded, and Hosea turned his head away as the doorframe splintered, the impact of the round spraying both wood and plaster. Hosea drew a deep breath before ducking out from cover, firing a single shot into the man’s chest with deadly precision. 

Dutch caught his breath as another shot rang, and he stepped away from the wall to cover Hosea only to find the stranger already lying motionless on the ground. He watched as Hosea carefully approached the opened doors, gun cocked and ready to fire as he rounded the corner to check for more squatters. With narrowed eyes, Dutch eyed the stairs before climbing them. He pulled the hammer back on his revolver as he reached the second floor, and he rejoined Hosea after making sure they were alone.

“That was too close,” Dutch sighed.

Hosea nodded as he leaned against the wall. “Agreed."

He tilted his head as he noticed the older outlaw’s stiff posture, and he felt the blood drain from his face as he recognized it immediately. Dutch was by his side in an instant, prying his bloodied hand away from his side as his gaze zeroed in on the growing crimson staining his torn vest. The last shot he heard must’ve been fired by the stranger, finding its mark just below the right side of his waist. His wide eyes met Hosea’s, and the small smile he offered as a way to reassure him only sparked his fear-driven anger. 

“Hosea—”

“It’s only a graze,” Hosea supplied. 

Dutch shook his head as he wordlessly instructed him to sit by taking his arm and leading him to an overturned wooden chair that was nearby. He straightened it for him and ignored Hosea’s protests and claims that he was fine. With a firm squeeze to his shoulder, he curtly told him to stay put as he hastily returned to the horses to gather what supplies they had. What he found wasn’t much, a bottle of whiskey and a spare shirt from Hosea’s saddlebag, but Dutch did find some comfort in knowing that what they had was better than nothing. 

Hosea was, more often than not, an expert at hiding his pain. Dutch usually had to pry him open with questions to get to the bottom of anything, and knowing that left Dutch reeling when he returned to find sweat glistening on his brow and his face pinched tight. His brows were drawn tightly together as he was helped out of his vest and shirt. Dutch released the breath he was holding as he noted the wound wasn’t as deep as he’d originally thought. It truly was just a graze, and the relief that flooded him made him grateful he was kneeling on the floor rather than standing.

“Don’t leave me just yet, old-timer,” he teased lightly as he poured whiskey over the gash. 

Hosea clenched his jaw as the fire in his side became white-hot. He gripped the edge of the chair as he tried to control his breathing through his nose. He chose to ignore the harmless nickname, knowing the underlying reason for it. It was clear as day that Dutch was scared, and the man only had so many ways to cope with his fear. Usually, he either panicked, indulged in an angry outburst, or used humor in an attempt to dispel it, and Hosea was grateful that he’d chosen the latter. 

“I’m not going anywhere," he finally gasped out.

“Good,” he swallowed as he unbuttoned Hosea’s ruined shirt, tearing strips of it to tie together before wrapping the makeshift bandage around his waist before cinching it tight and tying it. The pressure made Hosea wince, and Dutch quietly apologized. 

Hosea chuckled to himself. “You know, it’s not often I get to hear those words from you.”

He frowned as he handed him the bottle of whiskey. “What are you trying to say?”

“Nothing,” he replied before taking a swig. “Thank you.”

Dutch’s gaze lingered on the makeshift bandage, leisurely traveling up the planes of Hosea’s chest before meeting his eyes again. Silence settled between them as Dutch tentatively reached for his hand, and when Hosea didn’t pull away, he gave it a gentle squeeze. “Why didn’t you tell me you were shot?”

“I know how you get,” he replied. “Didn’t want you worrying before we finished clearing the house.”

“I need to know next time,”

Hosea smirked. “Are you saying there _will _be a next time?”

He rolled his eyes. “You know what I mean!”

“Sure,” he chuckled. “Now would you stop ogling, and give me my clean shirt? There’s not much to look at, anyway.”

“That ain’t true!” Dutch scoffed as he straightened himself with a frown and tossed the button-up to him. Hosea thanked him with a cheeky grin before shrugging it on. “But what can I say? Old habits die hard.”

The smile he wore dropped at that, and he exhaled a weary sigh. “That was years ago, Dutch.” 

“Some days it feels like it was yesterday,”

Hosea shook his head. “It can’t, that’s not fair to Annabelle.”

“She knows,”

His eyes snapped up to meet Dutch’s before narrowing a hair. “Regardless, neither of us are in the position to linger on past affections.”

He sighed. “I know.” 

Hosea was silent as his gaze shifted to the body on the floor down the hall. “You think there are any other squatters nearby?”

“I doubt it,” he said as he went over to the corpse. “But I say we stay the night just to be sure. We’ve had enough close calls today to last the month.”

“Agreed,” he watched as Dutch hauled the body out the back door, and he nursed the bottle of whiskey while he waited for him to return. When he did, he shut the front door before getting the fireplace in the parlor going. Hosea stayed where he was, closing his eyes as he tried willing the whiskey to ease the pain faster. It wasn’t until he heard Dutch’s footsteps drawing closer when he opened his eyes again. Dutch held out his hand to help him up, and despite his earlier reproach, Hosea gladly took it. Yet he couldn’t help but smile at the domestic nature of his actions. The wound he’d taken to his side was just a simple graze, and while it hurt like hell, it was both clean and manageable. 

“I’m not an invalid, you know,” he teased as he made himself comfortable on the chesterfield by the fireplace. He could tell that Dutch had tried to clear it off as best as he could, although there was no fixing the torn and stained upholstery. The juxtaposition between the worn chintz and ornate mahogany frame was amusing to Hosea, and he wondered just how long it had been since the chesterfield had been regarded as a prized possession. 

“No, but whether you like it or not, you _are _injured, and I’m going to make sure you’re taken care of,”

Hosea studied him, his head tilting in thought and seeing right through him. “Dutch, this isn’t your fault.”

He merely grunted in response as he took a seat on his left side. 

It was clear that Dutch didn’t believe him, and he sighed as he decided to let the discussion go. As the whiskey started to take effect, he took the time to study the parlor in its entirety. What remained was far too garish for his tastes, which left him speculating that a wealthy family had tried their hand at life in the countryside before inevitably returning to the city. Regardless, the home itself would do. Its structure was sound, and there was nothing that a decent cleaning wouldn’t fix.

With a shake of his head, he offered Dutch the bottle of whiskey for him to take a swig. “I can’t remember the last time just the two of us spent time together.”

Dutch chuckled bitterly to himself. “It’s been too long, I just wish it was under better circumstances.”

“Please, it’s not like I’m dying,” he huffed. “Stop being so dramatic.”

He ignored the comment as he leaned back. “You know, I remember now. The last time it was just us, we were searching for Arthur."

Hosea stared at the peeling wallpaper on the opposite wall as he was given the whiskey. “I try to forget those days.”

“Me too,”

His eyes lowered to the half-empty bottle in his hands. “I don’t know what I’d do without Arthur.”

“I think those were the worst few days of my life,” Dutch heaved a sigh, “I’m sorry I was an ass then.”

“Two apologies in one day?” Hosea asked lightly. “I should get shot more often.”

“You’re ridiculous,” he snorted. “I’m serious, all that arguing between us. We used to be so close. What happened?”

“We care about the same thing in different ways, I guess,” Hosea mused. “Perhaps we’ve been holding that against each other for far too long.”

“I guess,” he shook his head, “I don’t know about you, but I’m through with all that nonsense. You’re one of the best things to have ever happened to me. I know I don’t say that enough, and I don’t ever want to lose you.”

He smiled and wrapped an arm around his shoulders. “We will always have our differences, Dutch, but I’m not going anywhere.”

Dutch rested his head against Hosea and felt the tension expel from him with a deep sigh. “Good.”

\--

There was a part of Arthur that had been deceived into thinking Dutch and Hosea were bulletproof. Sure, some tough scrapes had come their way, but the two outlaws always made it out with their heads held high. There wasn’t a situation they couldn’t talk nor fight their way out of. Between Dutch’s charm and Hosea’s wit, they were unstoppable, so when the two men didn’t return the same day they'd left, Arthur didn’t think twice. He had assumed they’d found yet another lead they couldn’t let go of, but when Dutch returned with news that Hosea had been shot, Arthur’s world nearly shattered. Yet Dutch was quick to assure him that he was fine and that the wound was nothing serious. Hearing that only brought so much relief, and Arthur was anxious to get to their new place to see Hosea. 

Bessie could tell how shaken Arthur was from what Dutch had said, and while she didn’t feel any better about the situation, she stayed close to Arthur’s side, opting to ride her horse beside him as they set out for their new home. 

When they arrived, Hosea was waiting on the front porch steps and smoking a cigarette. Everything within Arthur wanted to run to him, to see for himself that he was okay. Yet he held back, knowing he wouldn’t be able to resist the urge to hug him tightly. Arthur could tell by the slow and stiff way Hosea rose to his feet that his injury, while benign, was giving him trouble. He clenched his jaw as he tried to contain the surge of emotion that threatened to spill over.

He cleared his throat as he dismounted and hastily made his way over to Hosea. Being careful of his injuries, he wrapped his arms around the older outlaw’s shoulders. Arthur rested his head against him, unable to express how glad he was to see him alive. He was his everything, his lighthouse on the shore, and the glue that kept his broken life together. Arthur had nearly lost him, and the thought alone nearly broke the dam holding back his emotions.

Hosea smiled to himself as he returned the embrace, rubbing the young man’s back to soothe him out of habit. “Go hitch your horse, Arthur, and I’ll give you a tour of the house."

Arthur was reluctant to let him go, but he released him anyway and did as he was told. The only shelter available for the horses was an open front shed, and while Arthur would’ve preferred a barn like the one at the farmhouse, the wooden shelter would do. After all, he could always add a wall to the structure to block the wind before winter arrived.

He returned to the front of the house to find Bessie fussing over Hosea. Her brow was furrowed, and her arms were crossed over her chest as he spoke to her. Seeing the tables turned on the outlaw was humorous to him, and the corner of his mouth quirked upwards as he made his way over. 

“You’re lucky it was just a graze!”

“I know,” he replied.

“I tried to tell you it wasn’t a good idea for just the two of you to go off gallivanting like that,”

“Maybe I could join you and Dutch next time,” Arthur offered, and he received a look from both of them as if he had grown two heads. Their questioning gazes made him frown, and he straightened himself. “What? I’m twenty-two! I can handle myself.”

“I’m not worried about that, but come on, I think you’ll get a kick at how ridiculous the furnishing of this place is,” Hosea wrapped an arm around his shoulders before adding more quietly, “in other words, I need you to help me sneak past Susan. I have no doubt she has quite the lashing in mind for me.”

Arthur laughed at that, and they entered the house where everyone else had started to get settled. He could distinctly hear Miss Grimshaw’s complaints about the work that needed to be done, and Annabelle’s amused tone as she extinguished each one of them with a light quip. Although, even Arthur had to admit that the house needed work. The place looked like it had been abandoned for years, and he found it odd how much the previous owners had left behind. He scanned the entryway, and his eyes settled on a bullet-sized hole in the wall. He swallowed, noting how it was level with Hosea’s head, and he quickly tore his gaze away as he tried to think of something else. 

As Hosea showed him around, Arthur realized that he hadn't been joking about the furnishings. Even the ornate wallpaper seemed out of place, and he couldn't help but laugh at the jokes Hosea made about the design choices. This continued even as they finished the tour in what would be Arthur and John's room. They sat on the bed and took turns finding made-up images in the wallpaper as someone would do when watching the clouds. It had been relaxing until John appeared at the door. Copper had followed him up, and the coonhound helped himself to investigating the room before sitting at Hosea’s feet. His tail thumped loudly against the wood floor, and Hosea smiled from ear to ear as he scratched Copper’s ears. 

John, however, lingered behind the door frame as he watched with a furrowed brow. His hesitation didn’t go unnoticed by Hosea, and as much as Arthur wanted to be alone with him, the man waved him in. The gesture took John off guard, and he stiffened before tentatively stepping into the room. 

“I overheard what happened,” he said quietly. “Are you okay?”

“Well, I can’t say it doesn’t hurt, but it’s hardly more than a scratch,” Hosea said. “Although it’s only a matter of time before Miss Grimshaw insists to look at it herself. I doubt she’ll find our improvised wound care acceptable.”

As if on cue, Susan hollered up the stairs for him. Her tone brooked no argument, and he sighed as he gave Copper’s ears one last thorough rub before slowly rising to his feet. Arthur stood and went to help him, but Hosea stubbornly waved him off. 

“I’m fine, Arthur, just sore,” 

He frowned to himself as Hosea left the room before sitting on the edge of the bed once more. Copper whined at the loss of attention and nosed his head underneath Arthur’s hand, expectantly looking up at him with his large brown eyes. The sight replaced his frown with a lopsided grin as he stroked Copper’s head. He could feel John’s eyes on him as he sat down beside him, and Arthur had successfully ignored him until he finally spoke up.

“Is Hosea really going to be okay?” 

Arthur raised an eyebrow as he met John’s worried gaze. “Yeah, it’s just a graze, John.” 

His words failed to settle John as he rubbed his arm, his bottom lip pulled between his teeth. “You sure?” 

He heaved a sigh. “What else do you want me to say?”

John said nothing for a while as his eyes flitted to Copper. “My pa died after a bar fight.”

The realization that dawned on Arthur stung, and it didn’t take much of an imagination to fill in the missing details of John’s story. “Listen, Hosea ain’t going nowhere. Miss Grimshaw is going to take good care of him. Hell, we all are, so don’t you worry.”

He nodded to himself, hoping he could take Arthur for his word.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter turned out way different than I had originally planned, but I hope you all enjoy it nonetheless! Dutch and Hosea have been long overdue for resolving most of the conflict between them, even if it did take a bullet to get them to that point. 
> 
> I promise there will be more Arthur in the next chapter! Thank you for your patience with this update as well as for your continued support!!! <3
> 
> Also I've been listening to "Carried Me with You" off and on since I've seen the movie "Onward", so I couldn't help but make a few references to it. :)


	23. Never A Dull Moment

Arthur took a long drag on his cigarette as he watched Hosea from the front porch. It had been a few days since he’d been shot, and getting the man to rest and heal up was more infuriating than trying to herd cats. Hosea had fought them on most things when it came to ensuring his well being. He was too stubborn to stay in bed for long, and Arthur’s protests only carried so much weight when it came to Hosea’s determination. He was headstrong through and through, and despite his stiff movements and occasional grimacing, the older outlaw swore up and down that he was fine. Yet they all knew better, and while it disgruntled Hosea, the rest of the gang worked together to keep him from pushing himself too hard. 

Arthur’s eyes narrowed as Hosea walked over to where the horses were grazing. He was on his feet in an instant and followed him in quick strides, getting there just as Hosea had put his hands on his saddle. 

“Just what do you think you’re doing?” Arthur demanded as he held the saddle in place on its stand.

Hosea frowned at him. “Well, I _was _going to saddle up my horse and ride into town.”

“It’s barely been four days!”

“And I’ve been stir crazy for two,”

Arthur shook his head. “You’ll only make it worse if you don’t wait a few more days.”

A small grin twisted his lips. “You’re starting to sound like Miss Grimshaw. I only need one mother hen, Arthur.”

He snorted. “You take orders so poorly you need all five of us watching you like hawks.”

Hosea heaved a sigh, although he relinquished his grip on the saddle as he took a step back. “I may be getting older, but I’m not fragile.”

“No, but if that wound gets any worse, Grimshaw might just tie you to your bed,”

He laughed at that, and Arthur couldn’t help but notice the wince that briefly contorted his features. Yet before he could ask about it, Hosea wrapped his arm around his shoulders as they walked back towards the house. “I wouldn’t put it past her!”

Sometimes, Arthur swore Susan had a sixth sense for detecting potential mischief. As they neared the porch, she stepped out of the house with her hands on her hips and eyed them with a penetrating stare. “What are you two up to?”

“Just getting some fresh air,” Hosea replied with a broad smile. 

Her eyes narrowed. “The two of you look like you’re up to no good.” 

Hosea feigned a look of hurt as he placed a hand over his heart. “I’m insulted that you would think so lowly of us!”

“I know the trouble you two are capable of,” she replied as she wagged a finger at them. “That silver tongue of yours doesn’t work on me.”

Arthur laughed as Hosea made a tsk sound. “Please, does this fine young man really look like he could cause trouble?”

She shook her head. “You’re downright incorrigible sometimes!”

Hosea chuckled to himself as she disappeared inside. He squeezed Arthur’s shoulder before releasing him. “Thanks for not ratting me out.”

“Of course,” he said before taking another drag on the cigarette in his mouth.

“Do you have another one of those handy?” 

Arthur nodded as he pulled another out of his pocket and lit the end before handing it to him. Hosea thanked him and took a seat in the wooden chair that they kept on the porch. 

“I have a good feeling about this place, Arthur,”

“Well, you’ve already been shot, so it can only go up from here, right?”

He grinned around his cigarette. “That’s the hope!”

Arthur leaned against one of the porch’s thin columns, his gaze drifting to Hosea’s right side. “How is it, really?”

Hosea shrugged. “I’ve had worse, and it’s on the mend, so nothing to worry about.”

He studied him before nodding to himself, relieved to find that Hosea was telling the truth. “Good.”

When the door beside them opened, Arthur half expected it to be Susan again. Instead, it was Dutch, wearing one of his finer vests over a white button-up shirt. He smiled at them as he walked over. 

“I thought I’d find you two out here!” He said.

“What’s the nice outfit for,” Hosea asked.

“Annabelle and I are going to do some reconnaissance out in Springfield, get a feel for the city,” he turned to Arthur, “John’s coming, and you’re more than welcome to join us if you’d like.”

“Sure,” he said as he watched Annabelle hold open the door as John eagerly ran out. One might’ve thought John was the one who’d been forced to rest for the last few days with the way he briefly basked in the sun before heading straight for the horses.

“Will you be alright while we’re gone?” Dutch asked Hosea.

“Why? Do you think I’m going to get into trouble?”

“It’s more likely than you’d think. You’re a sly bastard.” He huffed. “Just listen to Bessie and Susan while we’re gone and don’t do anything stupid.”

“Easier said than done, I’m afraid,” although his tone was anything but remorseful, and the smirk he wore caused Dutch to frown at him.

Arthur chuckled to himself as he was reminded of how they were the two sides of the same coin. He’d seen similar exchanges between them before, and it amused him how often they switched roles. He’d seen Hosea give Dutch a similar look to show he was serious countless times, and Dutch had dismissed it just as easily as Hosea had just now. 

As Dutch continued to fuss at Hosea for good measure, Arthur made his way over to where John was securing his saddle on Rosie. “You seem chipper today.”

“Ain’t you excited to get out for once?”

Arthur wasn’t sure if he was. While he wanted to continue to keep an eye on Hosea, he couldn’t deny that Springfield had sparked his interest. Dutch had been to the city before years ago, and the way he talked about it made it seem more bearable than the other cities they’d been to. He had great things to say about it as well as the late President Lincoln. Dutch had spent the last few days telling them stories about how his father had met Lincoln at some point before he'd died and had even been able to shake his hand. Although Arthur wasn’t sure how true that was.

“Arthur?” John asked as he snapped his fingers in his face. “You still in there?”

He scowled as he batted his hand away. “Apparently I’m not as excited as you.”

“Do you know how to have _any _fun?” 

“What you think is fun is different from what I think is fun,”

“That’s because your idea of fun is _boring_,”

Arthur nearly shoved John for the comment, but Annabelle’s presence as she made her way over had him reconsidering. “I swear you two could be actual brothers with the way you bicker.”

Both of them wrinkled their noses at that, and once Dutch was finished with giving Hosea an earful, they set out for Springfield. 

As far as appearances went, Arthur quickly discovered that the city wasn’t as grand as Dutch had described it to be. To him, it looked like any other growing city, and Arthur wondered if the source of their difference in opinion was Dutch’s idealistic nature or his increasing distaste for urbanization. Perhaps it was both, and as they rode down the street, Arthur found the tall buildings more suffocating than opportunistic. 

“So, what exactly are we scoping out here, Dutch?” Arthur asked as he watched a milk cart pass by them. 

He shrugged. “Anything, I guess, but today we’re here to have some fun.”

“Fun?” He frowned. “But you said—”

“If Hosea knew what he was missing out on, do you think it would’ve been any easier to keep him resting at home?” He asked. 

“You lied?”

Dutch snorted at that. “I didn’t lie, son. We _are _technically scouting the city and what kind of businesses are run here, but I also wanted to get you boys out. The weather is too beautiful to stay inside!”

Arthur had to admit that he had a point, although the revelation had him wishing he’d chosen to stay at the house instead. 

A photo studio caught Dutch's attention, and while it didn't spark interest in either Arthur or John, Annabelle agreed that it was at least worth a look. A young man, no older than Arthur, stood along the wall that was covered in a baroque patterned wallpaper. His brows were drawn together as he studied the prints in his hand. He was deep in thought, his hand idly fidgeting with his dark beard, and he didn’t notice the four of them until Dutch cleared his throat. The young gentleman jumped at the sudden sound before offering them a warm smile. 

“Ah! Hello! I apologize, I didn’t hear you come in!”

Dutch mirrored his smile as he shook his hand. “It happens, mister?” 

“Mason,”

“Mr. Mason,” he repeated, “I’m interested in getting a few photos taken.”

“Of course. My uncle is in the darkroom, I’ll let him know you’re here.” 

Mason walked down a short hallway where he knocked on a door. A man stepped out shortly after, frowning at his nephew, and Dutch spoke up before the man could scold Mason for the interruption.

“Good morning, sir! I heard your portraits are the best around!” He said.

The man’s scowl shifted all too quickly into a smile. “Is that so?”

“Yes, your reputation precedes you, and we were looking to get a few portraits done ourselves,”

“I can certainly do that for you! Are all four of you going to be in it?” He asked as he shooed his nephew out of the way.

“It’s funny you ask that! I haven’t been able to convince my sons to take one with us. They think it’s silly.”

“Then why don’t we start with you and your wife first and see how they feel about the matter after, hm?”

Arthur rolled his eyes before heading over to the far wall to look at the framed photographs hanging that were hung in a neat row. The individuals in the photos were all well dressed, although he was surprised to find one portrait where an older couple was smiling. The camera had caught the tender moment between them, freezing in time the loving gesture of the man nuzzling his smiling wife. It stood out starkly against the others, and Arthur furrowed his brow as his gaze lingered on it. Not even his own portrait with Dutch and Hosea had been as warm, and it briefly left him wondering why.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” 

Arthur jumped and turned to find the young man standing beside him, his hazel eyes lingering on the portrait a moment longer before meeting Arthur’s. “Yeah.”

“I’ve only been here for a month, but in my opinion, they were by far the best customers we’ve had,”

“Only a month?” 

“About,” he shrugged, “I’m from New York. After college, I decided to pursue photography, and what better way to learn the art than by working at my uncle’s photo studio?” 

Arthur raised an eyebrow at that. “No offense, but you don’t seem to enjoy it much.”

He scratched the back of his neck. “Well, I’m still learning, and I guess I never realized what photographing people entailed.”

“You know, Mr. Mason—”

“Please, call me Albert,” he chuckled, “we’re far too young to be calling each other by our surnames.”

He laughed. “Arthur.”

“A pleasure to meet you!”

“Likewise,” he replied. “Anyway, there’s a whole lot more you can photograph than just people.”

“What do you mean?”

“I dunno,” Arthur said, “guess you could photograph nature.”

Albert blinked as he considered his words. “Why didn’t I think of that? You’re a genius, Arthur!”

He shook his head. “I ain’t no such thing.”

“Nonsense!” Albert huffed. “What about you? Are you from the area?”

“Not really, we don’t like to stay in one place for long,”

“Really? Your life must be quite exciting!”

Arthur snorted. “You could say that.”

“Arthur!” John called as he tugged on his vest. “I want to be in a photo!”

He groaned as he tried shoving John away. “I thought you said you didn’t want to!”

“I changed my mind,”

“Then go ask Dutch!”

John pouted up at him. “No, I want one with you!” 

At first, he didn’t think he was serious. He nearly told him to knock it off when John pulled on his vest once more, his big brown eyes pleading for him to give in. Arthur sighed, knowing he couldn’t resist him, and he wondered if he’d learned the trick from Copper. “Fine! I’ll take a stupid photo with you.”

Arthur let John pull him over to a nearby waiting area where they watched Dutch and Annabelle get their portrait taken. The position they held reminded Arthur of a waltz. They were close together, Dutch holding Annabelle’s hand as he lovingly gazed at her. Her smile was genuine and dazzling, and behind them was a painted backdrop of a foreign city with a beautiful fountain. Arthur couldn’t help but smile to himself, knowing the photo would turn out just as lovely as the one hanging on the wall in the studio.

Albert walked over to them, unable to keep himself from looking on as well. “Your parents truly love each other.”

He only nodded, and when it was their turn, John insisted on the jungle backdrop. Arthur begrudgingly went along with it, and for their first photo, they stiffly stood side by side. That is until Arthur decided to ruffle John’s long hair and push it over his face. He laughed as John instantly retaliated, and while John tried to shove him, there was no hiding the wide smile on his face.

The four of them left once they’d received the prints they purchased. When they had mounted their horses, they followed the main street through the heart of town to scout out the city. While it was more developed than Mason City, it wasn’t nearly as large as Chicago or Milwaukee. There were several brick buildings along the street that were three-stories tall, while others were only two. A bank stood out among them, and as he read the sign ‘Lee and Hoyt’ written in bold letters, he realized it was the same bank the clerk had mentioned in Mason City. It was smaller than the banks he had seen elsewhere, but he had to admit that it suited the town.

“I think I’m going to linger here a while longer. I want to talk to the locals, get to know the ins and outs of Springfield.” Dutch said once they’d reached the end of the street. “You three should head back. I’m sure Hosea has driven Susan and Bessie mad by now.” 

Annabelle raised an eyebrow at him. “Don’t get yourself into any trouble sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong, alright?”

“I won’t,” he replied as he turned his horse. “I’ll see you all at the house.”

When they returned, Hosea was where they’d left him. There was a book in his hands now, and once they’d taken care of the horses, he smiled up at them as they walked over. 

“Well?” He asked. “Is Springfield as promising as Dutch said it would be?” 

“Looks that way,” Arthur answered. He then felt a tug on his satchel, and he turned to find John rifling through it. “Hey!” 

He dodged Arthur’s attempted shove and pulled out the prints of them before hurrying over to Hosea’s side. John held them out to him for him to see, smiling from ear to ear, and Hosea held them closer before laughter fell from his lips. 

“Bunch of children you two are,” he grinned, “can’t even act your age for a simple photo.”

Arthur chuckled, knowing the comment was made in good humor. “Where’s the fun in looking like corpses?” 

“Fair enough,” he mused as he returned the photos to John. “Keep those safe, John. They’re one of a kind.”

He nodded and held them close as he went inside.

Hosea’s gaze shifted to Annabelle, his smile faltering as worry flickered behind his eyes. “Where’s Dutch?”

She offered him a reassuring smile. “You know how he is. He wanted to talk to the locals, probably sniffing out leads, no doubt.”

He shook his head. “Of course he is.”

“He’ll be fine. I told him to watch himself.”

“Good,” he grinned as his eyes lowered to his book, “you’re the only one he enjoys taking orders from.”

She lightly whacked his shoulder with her hat for his remark, and Arthur laughed as Hosea managed to apologize in-between bits of laughter.

\--

Arthur watched the colorful leaves dance above him as he laid in the dry grass. The day was warmer than usual, almost too warm between the heat from the morning sun as well as from Copper, where he was curled up beside him. The coonhound yawned before pressing himself closer, and Arthur couldn’t help but smile to himself as he reached over to rub his ears. He heard the sound of leaves crunching, and he turned his head to see Hosea approaching him with two fishing poles in hand. 

“Hey, Arthur! Do you want to go fishing? It’s a lovely day!” 

He smiled as he sat up. “Sure, but you know how lousy of a fisherman I am.”

Hosea dismissed his comment with a wave of his hand. “It takes practice, Arthur. Besides, no son of mine should settle for buying fish instead of catching it himself.”

He groaned. “You ain’t ever gonna let that one go, are you?” 

“Never,” he replied with a smirk. “Now come on, it’s best we get out while it’s still early, and as much as I love him, Copper stays. He’ll only scare the fish away.”

Arthur nodded and brought Copper inside, although he nearly ran into John when he opened the door. 

“Where are you going?” John asked.

He hesitated before answering. “Hosea and I are going fishing.”

“Can I come?” 

Arthur’s eyebrows pulled together. “Do you even know _how _to fish?” 

He mirrored his frown as he stubbornly crossed his arms over his chest. “Hosea can teach me!”

No, Arthur thought. There was no way he was going to let John join them on their fishing trip. Sometimes sharing the same room with him was bad enough, and he treasured the times he could get away from the kid for a few hours. While his relationship with John had improved, that didn’t prevent the kid from choosing to be annoying most of the time. Yet as Arthur opened his mouth to tell John he couldn’t come, Hosea spoke up as he walked over.

“Sure, John, I’ll teach you,” he said as he handed Arthur a fishing pole. “There should be another fishing rod in Dutch’s saddlebag if you’re serious about coming.”

John eagerly nodded, and Arthur groaned as the kid ran off towards the open front shed. “You can’t be serious, Hosea!”

He shrugged. “What harm could come from letting him tag along?” 

“But he _always _gets to tag along!”

Hosea eyed him before squeezing his shoulder. “We’ll do something with just the two of us soon enough, but the boy needs to learn how to fish.”

Arthur muttered under his breath. He wasn’t happy with the decision, but he had to agree that Hosea had a point. “How far away is this fishing spot, anyway?”

“Not far, about a mile or so south. There’s a lake not too far from here with a short pier. I saw some largemouth bass there when I checked it out yesterday. Surely even you can catch a bass!”

“We’ll see about that,”

When John returned with Dutch’s fishing rod, Hosea led the way to the lake he had found. They followed a path that passed through both trees and wide-open, grassy areas before finally stepping through a grove of trees, reaching the edge of the lake. As Hosea had said, there was a narrow pier that stretched out about fifteen feet. It was barely wide enough for two men to stand side by side. The wood was old and weathered, although Hosea assured both of them that the pier wouldn’t collapse on them. Despite his promises, John hung back among the trees, watching them with wide eyes. No amount of reassuring from either of them could convince John to leave the tree he’d wrapped an arm around. Arthur, however, didn’t mind. With John out of sight, he was nearly out of mind too, and that was something Arthur couldn’t complain about. 

With the weather warming up some, the fishing was more successful than Arthur had assumed it would be. Even _he_ had managed to catch a few largemouths, and hearing Hosea praise his success, had him smiling wide. 

Hosea took his most recent catch from him and made his way to the other end of the pier, where they were keeping their bucket. It had been the older outlaw’s idea to let John ‘keep watch’ over the fish they’d caught to make sure they were okay until they were ready to gut them. The kid was none the wiser that it was entirely unnecessary, but it seemed to take away the fear that had gripped him. 

Arthur adjusted the pole in his hands as he tuned out their conversation, wondering what plans Dutch had up his sleeve. When he had returned from Springfield several days ago, the wide smile on his face had told Arthur he’d caught wind of something good. While the outlaw had assured them that he would eventually fill them in, he had kept quiet about the details. Whatever he was planning, he wanted to get right, wanted to have all details accounted for before revealing his latest plan.

The sound of Hosea rejoining him pulled him from his musings, except when he turned to face him, it was John who stood beside him instead. He gripped his fishing rod with white knuckles as he warily stared at the calm surface of the lake, and it took all of Arthur’s willpower not to laugh at the pitiful sight. 

“You finally decide to fish?”

He nodded. “Hosea told me the steps.”

“Alright, if you’re all set, why don’t you stand a few paces away so you don’t hook me?” 

John immediately shook his head and stepped closer to Arthur.

“What? Are you scared?” He teased, and it took Arthur off guard when the boy nodded his head. He heaved a sigh, regretting his words. “For crying out loud, John, the fish ain’t gonna bite you!”

“I ain’t scared of the fish!”

“What is it then? The water?” 

He had been joking, and it surprised him when John slowly nodded once again. “I can’t swim.”

“You’re twelve years old, and you can’t swim?” He exclaimed. 

“I never learned how,”

Arthur considered the revelation for a moment as he eyed John. Nearly half a minute had passed before he finally reached out and wiggled his fingers. “Here, hand me your fishing pole.”

Without thinking twice, John did as he was told, and once Arthur had fit both rods in his hand, he gave John a hard shove off the edge of the pier. A yelp escaped him, and the sound was cut short as he went under. Arthur expected to see flailing or at least some kind of floating after his initial submersion, but the water only grew still. Panic began to settle in as he continued to watch for any sign of John. He’d been forced to learn how to swim this way himself, and his breathing thinned as he wondered why John’s instincts were taking so long to kick in. Just how deep was the lake?

“Arthur! What the hell happened?” 

He jumped at Hosea’s harsh tone and turned to find his white-hot gaze on him. “He didn’t know how to swim!”

He swore loudly. “Well, don’t just stand there! Clearly he only knows how to drown!”

Arthur set the fishing poles aside and jumped in after John. The water was colder than he expected it to be, and it was thanks to the clear sky and brightly shining sun that he was able to find John. Where they were wasn’t deeper than six feet, making it easy to get to John, and Arthur was grateful for it as he grabbed the kid and pulled him up to the surface. John clung to him as he sputtered and gasped for air, fingers and nails digging painfully into Arthur. He grimaced as he managed to haul both John and himself onto the pier. Once John had stopped coughing and remembered how to breathe, he punched Arthur hard in the shoulder. He continued his blows as Arthur tried to hold him at an arm’s distance, both of them still lying on the wooden planks and completely soaked through. The action only fanned the flames of John’s anger, and he lunged past his arm as he continued his assault. 

Hosea quickly made his way over and pried John off him. He knelt in front of the kid and held him by his shoulders as he looked him over. He could feel the boy shaking underneath his hands, and he couldn’t tell if it was due to his anger or being cold. “Are you alright, John?”

“Arthur t-tried to k-kill me!” He said as his teeth chattered, glaring at Arthur all the while. 

Arthur rose to his feet as he tried to wring out what he could of his shirt. Guilt began to pull at him as he took in John’s state, yet he did his best to ignore it as he picked up the fishing rods. “I was trying to teach you how to swim!” 

“By killing me!” He retorted.

“Enough! Both of you!” Hosea snapped as he removed his light jacket. “Take that shirt off, John, and put this on.”

John nodded and followed Hosea’s instructions before he was told to go back to the trees along the grassy shoreline.

Arthur frowned as he watched John walk off with Hosea’s jacket around him. “It really ain’t that cold.”

He rounded on Arthur, and the heat he saw earlier instantly returned to his eyes. “What the hell were you thinking?” 

“I was thinking swimming was an important survival skill,” he muttered as he wrapped his arms around himself.

“And you thought it was a good idea to just throw him in?” 

He frowned as he stared hard at the wood beneath his feet. “It’s how I learned.”

Hosea studied him for a moment before the heat of his anger left him with a sigh. He pinched the bridge of his nose before wordlessly encouraging Arthur to look at him by gently lifting his chin. “I’ll agree that it’s important to know how to swim, but you have to remember that the way Lyle taught you things is not the way anyone ought to be taught. He was a cruel teacher, and while you survived his teachings, learning those skills doesn’t have to be done that way.”

“I’m sorry, Hosea, I was just…”

“I know, you were only looking out for John,” he supplied as he took the fishing poles from his hand and wrapped an arm around his shoulders despite his wet shirt. “Come on, we’ve fished and swam enough for today.”

The corner of Arthur’s mouth lifted in a small smile as they made their way over to John, who was standing in a patch of sunlight that streamed through the changing leaves. He had pulled Hosea’s jacket tightly around himself, and it was a wonder he was able to see them coming despite his long, dark hair that clung to his face.

“Arthur has something he wants to say to you, John,” Hosea said as he patted Arthur on the back.

“What?” Arthur asked as he wrinkled his nose.

Hosea merely nodded in John’s direction, telling him in his own way to get on with it.

He sighed and forced himself to look John in the eye. “I’m sorry.”

John’s eyes narrowed, and he eyed him for a while before finally nodding to himself and turning on the heel of his foot. 

“Little brat,” Arthur muttered.

“I’d act that way too if I was almost drowned,” Hosea quipped.

He groaned, and the older outlaw couldn’t help but laugh as they started their trek back to the house. 

“At least you caught some fish!” Hosea offered as he held the bucket up for emphasis. “Although John doesn’t count. He’s more like a rock with the way he sank.”

While John walked ahead of them, his head whipped around to cast a scowl their way. “I heard that!”

Arthur felt his guilt ebb away as he laughed, and for a brief moment, he was convinced John was going to punch him again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey all! 
> 
> Thank you for your patience with the delay! Motivation has been sparse as of late 😅 but I hope you enjoyed the fluffier chapter! The whole gang has been long overdue for this sort of thing. Also I couldn't resist giving Albert a little cameo!
> 
> Thank you again for your continued support!!! Words cannot express my appreciation for it <3 I hope everyone is staying healthy and safe ;;
> 
> Also, friendly FYI that Chapters may be a bit more delayed with having to wrap up a few things in life! :)
> 
> If you're on Tumblr, feel free to stop by and say hi! My URL is snikt-snack :)


	24. A Costly Mistake

“Arthur, look!” 

Arthur groaned as John pulled on the sleeve of his coat. Just about anything got the kid excited, and stopping to look at each of those things unnecessarily prolonged the time they spent buying supplies or running errands. Usually, it was only a minor inconvenience. Arthur would humor him for a moment before pulling him away from whatever had captured his attention. His patience for lingering outside in the bitter cold, however, was practically nonexistent. Having grown out of his mittens, Arthur had his hands shoved deep into his coat pockets in an attempt to find what little warmth they offered. John, who now wore said mittens (that left plenty of room to grow into) and refused to let Arthur ignore him, persistently pulled on Arthur’s elbow as he tried to get him to follow.

“It’s freezing, John!”

“But Arthur—”

“And we need to get back before it starts to snow,”

“This is the last time, I _swear!_” he pleaded. “Would you just look at it for a second?”

He heaved a sigh and begrudgingly let John pull him over to a butcher store’s window. 

“Today’s Thanksgiving!” John added. “Can we get it?”

On display was a turkey that was easily twenty pounds, and for once, Arthur was just as impressed as John. The bird would feed all of them with plenty to spare, and Arthur had to admit that the idea of properly celebrating the holiday was tempting. His eyes flitted to the price, which caused him to draw a sharp intake of air. The turkey was as expensive as it was big. Yet, John’s excitement was evident even in his faint reflection in the window. He was practically overflowing with it, and Arthur rolled his eyes before peering into his satchel, finding he was just shy of what they needed. His brows pulled together before glancing at John. The kid practically had his nose pressed to the window, and it was a wonder he could see anything with his breath fogging up the glass. 

“Have you ever celebrated Thanksgiving, Arthur?” he asked, his eyes still glued to the bird. “With a turkey and everything?”

He shrugged. “Maybe once or twice.”

“What was it like?”

“Well, Annabelle and Susan’s cooking combined is truly something else,” Arthur said. “I don’t think I’ve ever eaten better.”

John’s smile fell, his eyes taking on a more wistful look. “Do you think we’ll have enough to celebrate it?”

Arthur hesitated. They hadn’t pulled any scores large enough to provide a surplus of money for such indulgences. Not even Arthur’s share amounted to much. Breaking the news to John would crush him, yet Arthur realized he didn’t have many other options that supplied a different end result. “I’m afraid we won’t.”

As expected, a crestfallen look shadowed John’s features, and he lingered against the glass for another moment before turning away. Arthur tried to rub some warmth into his arms as he watched him mount Rosie. His shoulders slumped forward as he sat in his saddle, where he waited for Arthur to do the same.

The biting air seeped deeper into Arthur’s bones as he stood beside Boadicea. He had no desire to stay out in the cold any longer than he had to, and yet he felt conflicted all the same. With a sigh, he unhitched John’s horse with numb fingers and handed him the reins.

“Go on back to camp without me. There’s a few more stops I need to make.”

John frowned. “Is it that Mary girl again?”

“Yes,” he lied, “now get your nose out of my damn business and get your ass back to the house before it snows.”

Before he could argue, Arthur turned away from him and made his way down the sidewalk. There was a small house he had been eyeing whenever he went to the city’s saloon. The dilapidated brick building stood out against the others, and the man who lived inside seemed harmless enough. The man worked in one of the factories farther down the street, leaving his home vacant for most of the day. While he didn’t look like he’d have much money lying around, breaking in would be quick and easy. Since the man lived alone, no one would notice, and there was no need to worry about the man coming back before he’d taken what he needed.

As expected, Arthur didn’t find much cash lying around, but it was enough to cover the rest of the turkey’s cost. He closed the door behind him and left the house without raising any questions from the people who strolled by and made his way back to the butcher.

\--

Dutch stared at the flames as he stoked the fire they had going in the parlor’s fireplace. While the summer heat had lingered until early November, the coming winter’s cold had been quick to make its home in Springfield. It reminded him of how grateful he was for Arthur’s strength. The young man was better than all of them when it came to chopping wood for the fire, and Dutch had a feeling they would need plenty of it this year. The sound of the door opening interrupted his thoughts, and he looked up to find John. When the boy closed the door behind him and took off his coat to shake off the snow in the entryway, he couldn’t help but frown. Susan would no doubt have something to say about the melting mess, but it was more troubling seeing John without Arthur. With unintentionally losing track of Arthur one too many times in the past, there was no fighting the worry that readily came over him.

“Where’s Arthur?” 

“He said he had a few other things to do and told me to go home,” John answered as he reached up to hang his coat on a hook. He grunted as he stretched his arms as far as he could, yet even standing on the tips of his toes couldn’t help him reach the hook. Dutch smiled in amusement as he set the iron fire poker aside and went over to help him.

“Did he mention what he was up to?” Dutch asked as he hung his coat for him.

“No,” he huffed as he made his way over to the fire to warm up.

Dutch furrowed his brow at that. It wasn’t unusual for Arthur to be tightlipped when it came to his own personal matters, but the snow that was starting to fall did no favors for his worry. John’s despondent mood didn’t help either, yet the boy stubbornly insisted that everything was fine when he was asked about it.

Arthur finally returned nearly a half-hour later. Dutch was on his feet in an instant, yet found himself rooted to the spot when he saw what Arthur was carrying over his shoulder. He could tell that underneath the paper wrapping was something he’d bought from the butcher, and John’s mood lifted all at once as he ran over. Arthur smiled wide at his excitement as he brought his prize into the kitchen. Dutch followed them, and instead of answering John’s barrage of questions, Arthur simply heaved it onto the dining table and unwrapped it.

“You got it!” John exclaimed as he bounced on the balls of his feet. “I thought you said we didn’t have enough!”

Arthur shrugged. “I did some haggling with the butcher to get a lower price.”

John smiled from ear to ear as he ran upstairs to tell the others the news. Dutch chuckled to himself before walking over to take a look at the oversized turkey himself. 

“Isn’t this the same bird that was in the window yesterday?” he asked.

“Sure is,”

He raised an eyebrow as his gaze shifted to Arthur. “If I remember correctly, that was quite an expensive bird.”

Arthur’s smile fell ever so slightly, and he tried to hide it with a shrug. “Like I said, I got the butcher to sell it for a lower price. I was only two dollars short.”

“You’re a terrible liar, son,” he chided lightly as he placed a hand on his shoulder, “where did you get the money?”

Arthur tensed, and he frowned as his eyes lowered to the bird on the table. “I stole it,” he admitted with a sigh. “There’s a man who lives in that old brick house on the same street, and John ain’t ever really had a proper Thanksgiving before, so I took it from him.”

Dutch straightened himself as he eyed him. “You stole from a poor man?” 

“It was only two dollars,”

He frowned. “Have you learned nothing, Arthur? If we rob those who are less fortunate, it makes us no better than the very thing we’re fighting against! How are we ever going to make a difference if we take from the very same people we’re trying to help? Especially for our own selfish gain.”

Arthur deflated at that. Dutch’s disappointment was as sharp as a knife and never failed to cut him to the quick. He would rather endure physical pain than let his mentor down. Familiar guilt pooled in his gut as he continued to avoid Dutch’s eyes. He didn’t know what he was thinking, and Arthur silently cursed himself as he realized that he hadn’t been thinking in the first place. “I’m sorry, Dutch. I didn’t mean to undermine you or the gang. I just—”

“Is it true you bought the gargantuan bird that’s been hanging in the window, Arthur?” Hosea asked as he came down the steps with Bessie and John in tow. 

Arthur wasn’t sure if Hosea had overheard their conversation or if the interruption had been intentional, but the wide smile on the older outlaw’s face didn’t reveal the answer. “I did. John wanted to celebrate Thanksgiving this year.”

“That was very generous of you,” Bessie smiled. 

He nervously glanced at Dutch before shaking his head. “It’s nothing, really. I had to steal two bucks to buy it.”

“Only two dollars?” Hosea repeated, his eyes briefly flicking to Dutch. “You know, if it’s weighing that heavily on your conscience, you could easily return that within a week. Skin a few good pelts, play some poker, or pickpocket a few gentlemen, and you’ll have more than enough to repay whoever you stole from.”

Arthur nodded, although he wasn’t sure through whose lens he should view his blunder through. While Dutch had removed his hand from his shoulder, Arthur could still feel his disapproval, and while he and Hosea didn’t argue nearly as much as they used to, there was no mistaking the mild tension between them. Knowing he was the source of it was worse than the disappointment he’d caused. Arthur never liked coming between the two of them, and he knew that he had been the cause of their contention in the past. Regardless, he decided he would eventually return the money he stole. 

Annabelle and Susan set to work prepping the turkey for roasting, stuffing it with a mixture of bread crumbs, some butter, and an egg. The roasting itself took nearly five hours, and in the meantime, Arthur helped Hosea and Bessie prep the sides in the dining room. John, however, was keener on watching Annabelle and Susan roast the bird than helping. Not that he would’ve been much help, anyway, and Arthur always enjoyed his time with Bessie and Hosea. She liked to sing as she worked, and her charming voice made it all too easy to join her.

It had been around this time when Hosea had met Bessie, and Arthur couldn’t help but smile as he watched the two of them. They smiled as they helped each other, laughing together at the littlest things. The warm love they had for each other had no end. It radiated with a joy Arthur had rarely seen or felt, reminding him of golden grain caught in a summer sunset. Looking back on the day Hosea went to the theater with her, Arthur realized he hadn’t been too fond of the idea of her joining their tight-knit group. Now, he realized he wouldn’t have it any other way. 

“Did you forget how to shuck corn or something there, Arthur?” Hosea teased.

The question pulled him back to the present, realizing he’d paused mid-peel of the husk in his hand. Bessie chuckled as he rolled his eyes.

“Arthur! Come get this dog of yours before he helps himself to all our hard work!” Susan called from the kitchen.

“You can bring Copper in here, Arthur,” Hosea said, “I’m sure he’ll fancy the corn less than the turkey.”

Arthur laughed as he rose to his feet, and when he ventured down the hall, he found Copper sitting at the kitchen’s entryway. His tail was wagging fervently, ears pricked as his nose worked hard to take in the savory air. Arthur shook his head and dutifully led Copper into the dining room. While the coonhound would have rather stayed in the kitchen, he preoccupied himself by pulling at the husks Arthur was peeling and nibbling at them when they fell to the wood floor. 

Their impromptu Thanksgiving dinner was ready by early evening, and while Arthur would never admit it, he was glad John had wanted to celebrate the holiday. It had been a while since they’d had so much variety for dinner, and following some traditions brought a sense of normalcy to their otherwise unpredictable life. Arthur leaned back in his chair as the others chatted and laughed, taking the moment of stillness to reflect on all that he had and how far they had come. He smiled as Dutch teased Hosea over something trivial from where he sat at the head of the table, grateful for the warmth that had returned to their gang. 

As he watched, Arthur found himself knowing without a doubt that he was content with the life he had found. He had been nothing before crossing paths with Dutch and Hosea, trapped in the margins of society before he had been taken in. The two of them had helped him realize his potential, to pursue individual liberty outside the confines of society, and to help those who fell victim to cruelty and selfishness. Being a part of Dutch’s gang made him feel a part of something bigger, and he didn’t mind if that meant he’d have a bounty on his head for the rest of his life. What he had here was worth the cost.

Out of the corner of his eye, he caught John pick a piece of meat off his plate before hastily bringing it underneath the table. His dark eyes flitted between Dutch, Hosea, and Susan, and Arthur furrowed his brow as he subtly looked under the table. Sure enough, Copper was there, gladly taking the offering from John’s hand. Arthur elbowed John hard in the side.

“I didn’t buy the damn turkey for you to feed it all to Copper!” he hissed. “He’ll get his share when we’re finished.”

“I can feed him a piece if I want to!” John quietly retorted.

“Listen, you little—” 

Arthur’s threat was cut off as Copper came out from under the table and put his front paws on it. He snagged what turkey was left on John’s plate before he could react. 

“Hey!” John called as he twisted in his chair, scowling at Copper, who was thoroughly enjoying his treat.

A gust of laughter escaped Arthur, and he had to grab John by his shirtsleeve to keep him from wrestling Copper for what little he hadn't inhaled yet. “It ain’t worth it, John! There’s plenty left that ain’t been in that dog’s mouth.”

Susan wasn’t nearly as amused as Arthur or Annabelle, and Hosea only shook his head at the sight as Dutch left the table to help John get another helping to replace what was stolen. Copper, of course, returned to the table looking for more, and a warning look from Susan had Arthur sending him away.

\--

Arthur warmed his hands in front of the fireplace as he tried to come to terms with the fact that the wintry weather was here to stay for the next two months or so. Light snowfalls had come and gone within the last week, and the colder temperatures kept the thin coating of snow on the ground from melting. Hosea had commented several times how beautiful it was, like a frozen paradise that glittered in the sunlight. Yet Arthur felt differently. He still hadn’t found a suitable pair of mittens, and while he usually didn’t mind going into town to restock supplies, the bitter cold made his trips into town anything but pleasant.

He rubbed his hands together before removing his coat from its hook and shrugged it on. As he buttoned it closed, he heard John run down the stairs and groaned. Somehow the kid had a sixth sense for when he was going anywhere. It was a pain in the ass, and John hopped around the corner of the stairs as he pulled on a sock.

“Wait for me!” he panted as he rushed over, nearly running into Arthur as he pulled his coat down from its hook.

Arthur rolled his eyes. “I ain’t taking you nowhere.”

“Please, Arthur?” he begged as he looked up at him.

He frowned, determined to resist John’s pleading for once. “No!”

“Come on, I swear I won’t do nothin’!”

He snorted at that. “Since when have you _ever_ managed to stay out of trouble?”

John outright pouted at that. “I _swear_, Arthur!”

“Let the boy join you,” Dutch called from where he sat with Annabelle at a table, reading a newspaper. “Getting out will be good for him.” 

Arthur heaved a sigh and muttered under his breath. “Fine–” he turned to John–“but you better not start anything!”

As cold as it was, Arthur had to admit that Springfield looked better frosted with fresh snow. The gray blanket that had covered the sky yesterday had cleared, and the radiant sun caused the snow to sparkle in its light. There were only a few people out on the streets. Most had chosen to stay in and admire the wintry wonderland from the comforts of their home. If given the choice, Arthur would’ve stayed inside and journal in front of the fireplace, but he didn’t want the guilt of two dollars hanging over his head for long. He’d rather be done with it and repay the man. 

However, Arthur would first have to find the two bucks to repay him, and with fewer people on the streets, pickpocketing a stranger would have a higher risk. Playing poker at the saloon on the corner would be his best option. If anything, it would at least give him a start in earning the money that he needed to return. He slowed Boadicea to a stop when he arrived at the building and dismounted before hitching her reins as well as Rosie’s.

While John gave him the reins without protest, he wrinkled his nose. “You rode into town just to stop at the saloon?” 

Arthur shot him a look. “Whatsit to ya?” 

“The saloon is boring!”

“Then find something to do at the general store!” he huffed. “Or take a look at the bookstore!”

John sulked at that, and he was surprisingly silent as he lingered in his saddle. Although Arthur was sure it wasn’t for _lack_ of words, but more so for how much John wanted to say. There was something else that flickered behind his eyes as he stared at Arthur, his frown losing its depth between his brows, but before he could pinpoint what it was, John turned his head and dismounted. Arthur didn’t bother to ask what was on his mind as John headed toward the general store, knowing it would only prolong standing out in the cold, and he shook his head before entering through the wooden door of the saloon.

As luck would have it, or maybe as John’s luck would have it since his was nonexistent, there was a poker game going to his right. The men were older than he was judging by their weathered faces and graying edges of their hair, and the four of them seemed to know each other. While the stakes for the round were high, the usual tension in the air with large bets was absent. After ordering himself a whiskey at the bar, he made his way over to the table.

“You have a seat to spare?” Arthur asked before savoring his first swig of the drink, warming him quicker than the stove in the room.

A man with a mustache and beard that was nearly white sized him up with narrowed eyes. He leaned back in his chair as he indicated to the dealer that he intended to check. “Are you sure you want to play with a few old men, son?”

He offered them a sly grin. “Why? Are you folks afraid I might win?”

A gentleman wearing a flat cap laughed. “You’ve got quite the balls there! Just for that, I’d like to see how good you really are.”

Arthur pulled up an empty chair and took a seat. They dealt him in after the round, and Arthur scratched his nose to hide his small grin at the cards in his hand. If the community cards were just right, it was a winning hand. He knew the others had underestimated him because of his age, and if he played his cards just right, he’d make up the two bucks in no time. The likelihood that they would see his raises as a bluff was high and Arthur planned to take advantage of that. 

Yet, they had barely made it halfway through the round when Arthur saw the saloon doors open in a flurry. He looked up to find John panting heavily as he hurried over. The sight made him frown. John reeked of whatever trouble he'd gotten himself into, and Arthur set his cards face down on the table as he slung an arm over the back of his chair.

"What the hell are you doing here?"

"We have to go, Arthur,"

He narrowed his eyes and gestured to the poker game on the table, trying to ignore the questioning eyes of the others. "I'm sorta in the middle of something here."

John shook his head as he pulled on Arthur's arm, trying to will him to get up. "_Please,_ Arthur! It's important!"

The sound of a police whistle reached Arthur's ears, and his gaze snapped to the window where he saw several officers farther down the street. He quickly offered an apologetic smile to the men at the poker table and hastily excused himself. His hand grasped John's arm, and he pulled him along to the back of the saloon where they exited through the back door.

Of course John had gotten into trouble. He should’ve expected as much. Arthur hadn’t even been able to finish his drink, and now he was once again cold and down eleven dollars altogether. The missed opportunity stung, knowing he would have easily won the money he needed, if not more. His grip on John’s arm tightened as his frustration grew, processing just what John had cost him by begging to be brought along in the first place.

"What the fuck did you get yourself into, Marston?" he snapped as they jogged down the alley. 

"Nothing!"

"And I'm the king of England,” he scoffed. “You’re full of shit!”

"And you're a jerk! All I did was touch a stupid apple at the store! The man at the counter started shouting at me, calling me a thief and worse, so I ran."

He frowned as he glanced at him. "_With_ the apple?"

"I didn't have time to put it back!"

Arthur groaned as he slowed to a stop by the mouth of the alley. "I swear you're gonna be the death of me one of these days!"

"I didn't mean to cause any trouble, I swear!" He drew a shaky breath. "I don't know what happened!"

"You stole a damn apple and got the police on us, _that's_ what happened," Arthur muttered as he cautiously peered around the corner. While he could see the three cops searching the street, losing them would be easy if they stayed low. The concept, however, was foreign to John. He glared at Arthur as his white-hot anger stole his ability to reason, and he shoved Arthur for the dry remark with all the strength he could muster. Completely unprepared for the physical outburst as well as the strength behind it, Arthur stumbled and fell onto the sidewalk with a grunt. John's eyes went wide, and he hurried over to his side to help him up.

Arthur scowled and shoved John back despite his attempt to help before brushing the snow off him. He was tired of John's attitude, and he had opened his mouth to give him a hearty what-for when a shout down the street cut him off. His head whipped toward the sound, and the blood drained from his face as one of the policemen pointed in their direction. 

"_Shit!_" Arthur hissed as he stood, nearly slipping in his haste. He grabbed John's arm again and ran, their lungs working hard as they pumped their legs. Arthur scanned their surroundings as they raced down the sidewalk, desperately searching for any means of escape. The streets of Springfield were still unfamiliar to him, and there was no telling where each street and alley would take them. The route he eventually picked would be a gamble, but anything had to be better than trying to lose the law out in the open. He finally took a sharp right into an alley and cursed himself.

He was wrong. 

A dead-end was infinitely worse than sprinting down the street.

Arthur’s breath came out in large clouds as he frantically took in his surroundings. It was too late to double back now, and he refused to accept the fact that they were cornered. John was a pain in his ass, but he found that his first priority was to get him out of there.

His eyes landed on a rusted fire escape that was anchored to the building on their right. The structure looked questionable at best and hung maybe three feet over his head. The untouched snow that covered the metal was telling of how rarely it was used, and after calculating the risk, he pulled John over and lifted him. The boy didn't hesitate to climb the ladder that led to the stairs. It creaked with his weight, and when he reached the first landing, he peered down at Arthur.

"Come on, Arthur!"

He braced himself and leaped, his hands finding purchase on the bars. As he climbed, John started to run up the stairs. With a grunt, Arthur stepped onto the landing and looked up to find John already at the top. He opened his mouth to tease him about his ability to hightail it when the metal underneath him groaned loudly. Arthur froze and looked down as it shifted before giving out with a loud snap. Time slowed as he looked up into John's terrified eyes before he hit the ground. 

Arthur couldn't help the sharp cry that left him. The impact made his head ring, and a fiery pain burned brightly along his ribs and shoulder. The intensity of it took his breath away, and he looked up to find the landing hanging precariously above him. His eyes widened as it creaked again, and he pushed through the pain to roll out of the way as it crashed to the ground.

John felt his heart drop as he peered over the railing, watching on with dread from where he stood. "Arthur!" 

Arthur stayed where he was on the ground as he looked up at John. He didn’t trust himself to stand without help as the world around him spun. "I'll be fine, just get out of here and tell Dutch what's happened."

"No! I ain't leaving you!"

"Don't be stupid!" Arthur snapped, feeling his panic taking over as the sound of footsteps drew closer. John had to get out of sight if he had any hope of losing the cops. Arthur knew it would be impossible for him to slip away himself, but his concern for John's safety outweighed his own. "Go!"

"Come on, Arthur!" John insisted, and Arthur couldn't help but note that it almost sounded like a plea.

He swallowed and forced himself to speak in a harsher tone despite the tightening of his chest. "For crying out loud, Marston! Get the hell out of here!"

John flinched, although it was enough to get him going up the rest of the fire escape.

The cops rounded the corner as John disappeared over the roof. Arthur didn’t consider himself to be smart in any sense of the word, but even he knew when he was beaten. He was in no shape to fight the three grown men who closed in on him, and he gritted his teeth against the pain as they hauled him onto his feet. Arthur winced as one of them grabbed him by his hair, and roughly angled his face to get a better look at him. 

“I thought I recognized you! I’ve seen your poster in Mason City.” One of the men said, his deputy badge glinting in the sunlight. “Where’s the kid?”

Arthur scowled as he spat in his face. His defiance earned him a knee to his stomach, causing him to double over as they bound his wrists before dragging him down the street. 

From the rooftop, John stared on helplessly in horror as Arthur was taken away. His heart pounded against his ribs, and he forced himself to turn away when he felt his stomach turn. John sunk in the snow and sat against the parapet as he hugged his knees to his chest. His mind relentlessly ran through endless scenarios of what would happen to Arthur, each worse than the one before. His lungs hitched as he wrapped his arms around himself, nails digging into the sleeves of his wool coat. Tears burned his eyes as he tried to blink them away unsuccessfully. They stung as they streamed down his face, and he lowered his head to the crook of his arm.

Arthur getting arrested was his fault. There was no mistaking that fact. He had frozen when the shop owner yelled at him. John had no intention of stealing the apple, and if he had been more level headed, they would've been able to skip town without a trace. He wasn't sure what the police planned on doing with Arthur, and he was even more confused that Arthur had refused to say a word about him. 

John wasn’t sure how long he stayed on the rooftop crying. Yet as he wiped his running nose on his sleeve, he realized he couldn’t stay there much longer. He had to tell Dutch and Hosea what had happened. Surely they would know what to do. He stiffly stood, realizing at once that the snow had soaked his pants. The cold dampness only added insult to injury, and after John found a different way down, he made his way back to where Boadicea and Rosie were still hitched. He fought back a sob as he fumbled with untying their reins, having to pull off his mittens to undo Arthur's knots, and he somehow managed to tie Boadicea’s reins to his saddle before climbing into it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well...that fluff didn't last for long 😅 
> 
> You all are so sweet and supportive ;; I'm so grateful for each of you 💛 Your comments have been wonderful and super encouraging! I hope you enjoyed this chapter regardless of the angst! Also, Hosea and Arthur will be getting their well deserved time together soon!


	25. Rescue

As Hosea read in the parlor, he couldn’t help but notice how oddly quiet the house had been all morning. It was the most peace and quiet they’d had in a while, and the thought made him frown. He looked up from his book to study Dutch, who was reading Emerson’s _Self-Reliance _in a wing chair by the window_. _There was a pensive look on his face as he rested his head in his hand, no doubt trying to soak in as much as he could despite it being his fifth time reading the essay. 

“Where did you say the boys were again?” Hosea asked.

“I think they went into town,” he replied without lifting his eyes. “You know how restless Arthur gets during the winter months.”

“Right,” he replied. 

The corner of Dutch’s mouth quirked upward in a smile as he met Hosea’s eyes. “You know, he may not be related by blood, but you have to admit that he does take after us.”

Hosea shrugged. “Either that or we’re not so different from Lyle.”

“Please,” he scoffed, “Lyle was a soulless bastard who could only win unfair fights! We might be outlaws, but we ain’t anything like him.”

He laughed. “Easy, Dutch! I was joking.”

“Good,” he replied as he smoothed his hair, “because for a moment I thought you’d lost your mind!”

“I may be losing the color in my hair, but I have yet to lose my mind,”

“True,” he smirked, “you’re becoming quite the silver fox, Hosea,”

He shot him a look, thoroughly unamused by the quip. Dutch only chuckled to himself, entertained by his own comment and the reaction it caused. For once, Hosea had no words for him, which left Dutch feeling emboldened and even more pleased with himself as he winked at him. 

The door opening suddenly kept Hosea from throwing his book at Dutch, and they were both on their feet in an instant, hands resting on their revolvers. While they relaxed when it turned out to be John, his red and puffy eyes had them tensing for other reasons. It didn’t take a genius to know he’d been crying, and hard by the looks of it. He looked miserable, and seeing John without Arthur left them dreading what had made the kid so distraught. 

“They took Arthur!” he blurted. 

“Who?” Hosea asked.

“The cops, I—it’s my fault!” he managed to say despite his breath hitching midway through his sentence. The confession caused his face to crumple as tears started to flow. “It’s my fault they got him!”

Hosea went over and gently pulled John against him in a hug. He rubbed his back as the kid buried his face into his shirt and sobbed. As concerned as Hosea was for Arthur, he was relieved to know it was only the police who had him. He would never forget finding Arthur bloodied and beaten on the ground outside their farmhouse in Milwaukee after escaping Colm, and when John had first mentioned that Arthur had been taken, he had feared the O’Driscoll had found him again.

“We’ll get him back, John. Let us worry about that.” He said in an attempt to console him.

“He’s been in worse scrapes before,” Dutch added as he placed a hand on his shoulder, “he’ll be okay.”

John merely clung tighter to Hosea, shoulders shaking as he continued to cry. Before returning home, he had braced himself for whatever anger he would have to face from both of them for getting Arthur arrested. Dutch and Hosea’s reaction, however, had been just the opposite, and he couldn’t wrap his pounding, clouded head around that fact. It didn’t make sense how calm they were, nor how they had instantly tried to comfort him. Arthur was like a son to them, had been under their wing for years, and his mistake had cost Arthur his freedom. Didn’t they see that?

He jumped when he felt hands over his, and he opened his eyes to find Hosea had knelt to his level. “Arthur will be back before you know it,” he assured. “We aren’t going to let anything happen to him.”

Out of the corner of John’s eye, he saw Annabelle round the corner. Deep concern filled her eyes as she gently called him to her side, and she led him into the kitchen where she got him a glass of water and something to eat. 

Hosea sighed as he straightened himself. There were several ways he could go about rescuing Arthur, and as he deliberated on them, Dutch scratched the back of his neck before looking over at him.

“Well? Got any ideas for how we can break Arthur out?”

He frowned. “We? You’re more wanted than I am, Dutch. The last thing we need is for you to get arrested too.”

“Then I’ll wear a disguise,”

“This sort of thing requires subtlety and tact,” he replied. “Last time I checked, those concepts were still foreign to you.”

Dutch heaved a sigh and shook his head. “Just be careful, Hosea.”

“I will,”

\--

As Arthur sat on the wooden bench, he realized that the word ‘cell’ was just a fancy word for a cage, and the two officers who had brought him in (the third had returned to his post) might as well have been gawking onlookers at a zoo with the way they treated him. His predicament was somehow entertaining to them, as they would occasionally laugh in between whispered words and sideways glances in his direction.

They had unsuccessfully tried asking him questions earlier. Both Dutch and Hosea had walked him through everything he should and shouldn’t do if he was ever caught. It had been drilled into his head that the law wasn’t above asking leading questions that would only benefit themselves. Knowing this, he refused to speak to them at all, opting instead to stare past the cell bars in defiance as he ignored them.

The officers gave up in less than fifteen minutes, quickly finding he wasn’t worth the trouble. They’d send him to Mason City and split the reward evenly, leaving him to face whatever sentence the sheriff in Mason City deemed fit. 

Eventually, one of them decided to relieve his frustrations by taking a walk to the general store while the other sat in a chair just outside his cell. The chair was positioned just to the left of the edge of his cell, only allowing Arthur to see one of the man’s broad shoulders.

Arthur sighed as he leaned against the stone wall and closed his eyes. Leaving John alone in the first place was a stupid mistake. He should have known the kid would find a way to start some kind of trouble. It was only bound to happen.

The sound of metal hitting the ground reached his ears, causing his eyes to snap open. Arthur froze as his gaze settled on the officer’s keys that had fallen to the ground. As tempted as he was to snatch them, he resisted as his eyes flitted to the man. The slow rise and fall of his shoulder was enough confirmation that the officer had fallen asleep, and Arthur glanced at the front door before his gaze lingered on the keys. They were within reach by the looks of it, and he drew a deep breath to steady himself as he eased off the bench. He bit his lip as a sharp pain radiated in his shoulder and along his ribs. His fall had, at the very least, heavily bruised them, and when the pain finally subsided, he crept forward before kneeling. After glancing at the guard to his left one last time, Arthur reached forward with his left arm.

He strained as he reached for the keys, his fingers just barely grazing the metal. With a frown, he inched himself closer and closed his eyes as he tried again. Arthur had just hooked a finger around the ring when a hand closed around his wrist without warning. His eyes shot open with a gasp as he was painfully pulled forward against the bars. 

Perhaps leaving John alone wasn’t his worst blunder that day. Forgetting to check _all _of his surroundings? _That _was a rookie mistake, and he cursed himself for it. Both Dutch and Hosea had taught him to be better than that.

Arthur grimaced as he was held in place by a third cop who had been out of sight around the corner. His eyes flicked up to find that the gentleman’s face had a deep frown carved into it with wrinkles that were just as deep. They reminded him of the grooves left behind by dried-up streams. His face was weathered from the life he lived, and his beard was flecked with silver hairs. If Arthur were to hazard a guess, he’d say the man wasn’t much older than Hosea. 

The officer in the chair startled awake, his hat falling off as he quickly rose to his feet. He tried to stammer out a half-assed explanation as he returned his hat to his head, but the man who still had Arthur’s arm in his grasp ignored him.

“Thought it’d be that easy, hm?” he asked as he looked Arthur over. “It might’ve been if this idiot was the only one here.”

“I-I’m sorry, sheriff,” the younger man replied, “it won’t happen again!”

“You said that the last two times,” he grunted as he took the keys before releasing Arthur. 

Arthur pulled back his arm before the sheriff had finished straightening himself, glaring up at him.

The sheriff eyed him as he stood in front of his cell, a hand on his hip as the other scratched his beard. “Apparently Mason City wants you for theft and fraud. Now how does a young man like yourself fall into that?”

Arthur only narrowed his eyes.

The man sighed. “Listen, son. I am more than willing to let you go if you give us the names of who’s really behind the scams you’ve pulled and where they are. I’ve been around for a while, and it ain’t uncommon for outlaws to use young people to do their dirty work. They’re easy to manipulate.”

The front door opened after that, pulling the officers’ attention away from Arthur before he could reply with the biting remark that was on his tongue.

“Hello, fellas! I just won far too much money at the nearby saloon and thought you hard-working men could use a drink or two!”

Arthur wasn’t sure he could believe his ears, and as he tried to look around the cops, his eyes confirmed that he wasn’t imagining things. Sure enough, it was Hosea who had joined them. The outlaw was a sight for sore eyes, and the tightness in Arthur’s chest was replaced with relief as he watched Hosea open one of the bottles.

“You are a kind gentleman, and your thoughtfulness is appreciated, but I’m afraid we must decline,” the sheriff said.

“Nonsense!” he huffed. “It’s freezing outside, and you all deserve a good, stiff drink.”

The two men glanced at one another and shrugged, finding they couldn’t turn down the generous offer. With only a nod, the sheriff told the younger officer to pull over two chairs as he went behind his desk and placed three shot glasses on his desk. Hosea smiled as he poured the liquor into the glasses before taking a seat. His eyes flitted to meet Arthur’s, and he gave him the subtlest of winks. 

Arthur tried his best not to give him away, opting to scratch the end of his nose to hide the small grin that had broken his stoic expression. Hosea began to chat with the two men, telling one of his many grand hunting tales. Arthur made himself comfortable on the bench in his cell and watched as the outlaw seamlessly convinced the men to drink more and more. Not even the third officer who returned could resist Hosea’s silver tongue, and it didn’t take much to get him to join their drinking.

In the meantime, however, Hosea had hardly touched his glass, patiently waiting as the three men got themselves drunk. When he figured they were inebriated enough, he glanced at Arthur’s cell and took a dramatic double-take. He was on his feet in an instant and quickly made his way over.

“Tom! What on Earth are you doing behind those bars!” he exclaimed as he looked Arthur over. “Your mother and I have been worried _sick_ wondering where you’ve been!”

The deputy, who had joined them later, wrinkled his nose. “Tom? No, sir, you must be mistaken. That’s Arthur Morgan, and he’s a wanted man in Mason City.”

Hosea rounded on him, his once pleasant demeanor turning like a switch. “Are you implying that I don’t know my own son when I see him?”

The man sputtered as he raised his hands in defense, clearly taken off guard by the unexpected sharpness of his tone. “I apologize, sir, but the bounty poster is almost a perfect match.”

“My son has always had an unfortunate face,” he replied firmly. “It isn’t his fault he looks like this _Arthur _you’re looking for!”

“Whether he is your son or not,” the sheriff said as he leaned farther back into his chair, “he was an accomplice to a child who stole from the general store.”

“I didn’t know he’d stolen something!” Arthur interjected, easily hiding behind a false desperate tone. “I thought he needed help!”

Hosea shook his head before turning to the sheriff. “How much is his bail?”

He slowly rose to his feet and tucked his thumbs in his gun belt as he straightened his shoulders. Yet what intimidation he intended to display was ineffective as he swayed on his feet. “There ain’t one.”

“You’ve got the wrong kid, and you’re lucky you’re dealing with me instead of Mrs. Lafonde. That woman’s ire is not to be trifled with, and I won’t hesitate in sending her down here if you won’t let me bail my own son out!”

The sheriff sighed as he studied Arthur with narrowed eyes before meeting Hosea’s once again. “Twenty dollars.”

“And I’ll double it for your trouble,” he said snidely as he put the money on his desk before gesturing to Arthur’s cell. “Now, my son, if you don’t mind.”

After examining the cash placed on his desk, he withdrew the ring of keys from his pocket and handed them to the officer who’d been standing guard. The hinges of the door loudly protested as it was opened, and Hosea gestured for Arthur to join him. 

“Keep the whiskey,” Hosea muttered as he placed a hand on Arthur’s back. 

Once they’d passed the windows of the police station, he lifted his hand to hold Arthur’s head still and pressed his lips to his temple. As Arthur smiled, he stood in front of him to look his boy over more thoroughly for any injuries. He was all too familiar with how well the young man could hide his pain, and the trust Hosea had for cops wasn’t even skin deep. He knew what officers were capable of, how easily they could hide behind their badge, and knowing Arthur had been with them alone for a few hours was unsettling.

Arthur shook his head and lowered the older outlaw's hands from his face. “I’m fine, Hosea.”

A smile broke his worried expression as he pulled him in for a hug. Arthur hardly felt the chilling cold in Hosea’s embrace, yet he couldn’t hold back his wince when his arms put pressure on his tender shoulder. Hosea pulled back immediately, his brow furrowed in concern.

“Tell me the truth, Arthur. Where are you hurt?”

He heaved a sigh. “The fire escape I had John climb gave out underneath me, and I fell. I can’t tell if I broke my shoulder or any ribs, but they hurt like hell.”

“Let’s get you home, then. The sooner we get back, the sooner I can take a look at them.” He replied as he led Arthur further down the sidewalk to where their horses were hitched. 

Once he’d been helped into his saddle, Arthur couldn’t help but chuckle to himself. His amusement earned him a confused look from Hosea. “What’s so funny?”

He shrugged and bit the inside of his cheek as a wave of pain came over his right side. “Guess I can say I’ve been arrested now, huh?”

Hosea shook his head. “And hopefully that’ll be your last. I’m glad John was there with you.”

Arthur snorted. “Why? You think it scared some sense into him?”

“It’s not that. While the poor kid was a mess when he came home, there’s no telling what would’ve happened to you if we didn’t get to you in time. Without John, we wouldn’t have known where to begin looking for you.”

“Sure,” he scoffed, “and if it weren’t for John, I wouldn’t have been in that mess in the first place!”

Hosea shot him a stern look at that. “That boy may be trouble, but he cares about you. Poor thing wouldn’t stop crying when he told us what happened. Hell, it looked like he’d been crying most of the way home.”

“If he cares so much, why does he insist on being a pain in my ass?”

“Perhaps he feels safe around you,”

“I ain’t done nothing for him to feel such a thing,”

Hosea raised an eyebrow as he looked over at him. “You’re an idiot if you really believe that.”

He frowned at him. “What do you mean?”

“If you can’t see all the ways you’ve cared for John, then I have truly failed you as a teacher,”

“You’re more than just a teacher to me, Hosea,”

Hosea found himself at a loss for words as he glanced at Arthur. There was a sincere look in his eye, and it made his throat grow tight. He offered him a warm smile instead, knowing Arthur would understand what words could not express.

Dutch was the first to greet him when they returned. Arthur hadn’t even had the chance to hang his coat before he was pulled into a tight hug. He gritted his teeth against the pain, and Hosea was quick to inform him of his injuries. Dutch apologized as he immediately released Arthur, his dark eyes looking him over for any other injuries. 

“I swear if they harmed you, I will personally—”

“I’m fine, Dutch,” he said, sounding exhausted even to his own ears. 

His shoulders relaxed at that. “Did you tell them anything?”

“Of course, not!”

Dutch smiled. “Then I do believe congratulations are in order! You’ve successfully survived your first arrest!”

Hosea scowled at him over Arthur’s shoulder but said nothing.

Hearing the commotion from down the hall, Susan joined them shortly after their exchange. She made her way over to take his head in her hands and held him against her. Arthur, of course, knew better than to pull away, and with the careful placement of her arms, he really had no reason to. 

“Your skin is like ice, and you must be hungry! Let’s get you something warm to eat. Come on, I know just the thing.”

“Send him upstairs to me when he’s done,” Hosea said, “the sooner I’m able to look at those injuries, the better.”

“You’ll have your turn, Hosea,” she chided, “be patient!”

Arthur dutifully followed her into the kitchen and helped when he was allowed to. He couldn’t blame Grimshaw for her unwillingness to hand over the reins. After all, he was the farthest thing from a competent cook. Hosea had even tried teaching him a few things on a hunting trip back in the spring, although neither of them had been able to stomach the first few meals he’d made. Arthur watched her skilled hands as they prepared a quick stew out of rabbit meat, taking mental notes (and hoping they stuck) as the savory air awakened his stomach. 

His expression must have revealed how hungry he was, causing Susan to smile as she handed him his bowl. Arthur thanked her and gladly ate it, and when he’d finished, he made his way upstairs to Hosea and Bessie’s room. He found Hosea in his reading chair, mortar and pestle in hand with herbs already ground into a pulp. Next to him on the nightstand was a cup of steaming tea and a tin of salve. Bessie stood by the window on the other side of the room, watching him with amusement glinting in her bright eyes. When she noticed Arthur had joined them, she exchanged a knowing look with him, wordlessly informing him how Hosea had let himself get carried away by his worry again.

“I’m so relieved that you’re okay, Arthur,” she sighed as she gently hugged him around his neck. 

“I didn’t mean to worry anyone,”

She pulled away and offered him a reassuring smile. “It’s not your fault. We care about you, so there’s really nothing you can do to keep us from worrying.”

He chuckled at that before turning to tease Hosea. “I don’t think you have enough herbs there, old man!” 

Hosea rolled his eyes. “Just get your ass over here.”

With a wide grin, he sat on the edge of the bed as Hosea rose to his feet and pushed the mortar bowl into his hands. 

“Eat this, it’ll help with the pain as well as the healing process,”

Arthur made a face, wrinkling his nose as he frowned at the pulp. He was all too familiar with the mixture of herbs, had recognized it the second the pungent odor hit his nose. Regardless, he ate it with only a shudder as his complaint as his tongue recoiled from the bitter taste. 

The rest of Hosea’s treatment went along easier. Arthur sipped on his chamomile tea as Hosea gently rubbed the salve into his skin. The tea’s pleasant warmth helped dispel what was left of the chill that had stubbornly settled into his bones, and while the treatment itself didn’t last long, Hosea continued to carefully massage his shoulders as he finished his tea.

Arthur couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt so relaxed. He practically leaned into Hosea’s touch as he worked on his tight muscles. Yet he found himself frowning as a thought crossed his mind.

“Where’s Copper?”

“He’s in your room with John,” Hosea answered.

“You should see him when Hosea’s done,” Bessie added as she took a seat beside him. “He’s been beside himself all afternoon.” 

Arthur only stared into his nearly empty cup. He was exhausted, and the last thing he wanted to do was to console John. Across the hall, he swore he could hear his bed calling him. His sore muscles and bruised bones were practically begging him to rest. Yet, with a sigh, Arthur gave in with a nod as Hosea handed him his shirt. Bessie, however, took it from his hands before he could find the opening for his right arm. Hosea chuckled, and with the two of them helping, Arthur found himself feeling like a child again. Even so, he was too tired to protest, and with both of them helping, putting on the shirt was practically painless. All in all, he couldn’t complain.

Bessie smiled as she pressed a kiss to his forehead. “Go talk to John and get some rest.”

He merely nodded, rising to his heavy feet before walking down the hall. The door was already open, and when Arthur stepped inside, he found John with Copper curled up against him on his bed. Arthur furrowed his brow as he looked them over, and while Copper’s usual enthusiasm returned as he jumped off the bed to greet him, John remained where he was. His eyebrows were drawn together as his lips formed a thin line, and Arthur couldn’t tell if he was thinking deeply, on the verge of tears, or both.

After satisfying Copper with a hearty ear rub, he sat on the edge of the bed by John’s knees. John didn’t move, didn’t even bother to look up at him. The unfamiliar silence between them was stiff and uncomfortable, leaving Arthur at a loss for words as he scratched the back of his neck.

Eventually, Arthur decided to swallow his pride as he drew a deep breath. “Thanks for telling the others what happened. I ain’t sure I would’ve escaped if you hadn’t.”

He didn’t think John’s frown could deepen any further, yet he was proven wrong as the kid wrapped his arms tighter around himself. “It’s my fault you were even there in the first place.”

Arthur shrugged and forced a smile to hide his grimace from the movement. “It was bound to happen eventually.”

John’s bottom lip trembled, and he tried pulling it between his teeth to stop it. “You could’ve _died_.”

“Over a twenty-dollar bounty?” he scoffed.

“They hang criminals,”

Arthur eyed John for a long moment as his words hung heavily in the air. “Is that why they tried to hang you?”

His question was met with silence.

“John?” he pressed. “Did you steal something from the men who tried to hurt you?”

Despite the tears brimming in his eyes, he nodded. “I _swear_ I was gonna put the eggs back! I was just hungry, and I—I didn’t know what to do, so I froze when I heard them coming.”

“Is that what happened at the general store today?”

Another nod.

Arthur heaved a sigh. He heard John’s breath hitch beside him, and he motioned for him to scoot over before lying down beside him. 

John tensed as he tried to wipe his tears away with his sleeve. “Ain’t you mad at me?”

“No,” he replied, his eyes closing as he settled into a comfortable position on his left side. Had John asked an hour or so ago, Arthur’s reply would’ve been a lie, yet he found he couldn’t stay angry at him, not when it was John’s past that had caused him to panic and run. To an extent, Arthur knew what that was like. Knew the damage trauma could inflict after an event, sometimes even years later, and how easy it could be to fall back into that state of mind.

His reply caused John to shakily exhale the breath he’d been holding, and he dared to lift his eyes to Arthur’s face to find he’d already fallen asleep. John’s brow furrowed. Grasping how Arthur could forgive him so easily was beyond his understanding. It left him with an ache in his chest, and as John watched him sleep, he hoped that someday he could somehow repay Arthur for all he’d done for him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WOW hello delayed update!
> 
> Thank you for your patience! I'm getting some intense treatments for my autoimmune disease for the next three weeks, and there's hardly a day that isn't full of appointments. I enjoy writing when I can, but know that these next few chapters will be a bit delayed <3 Know that there is more on the way, though! 
> 
> I hope you all are having a nice summer and are staying safe! <3


	26. I'll Be The Light in the Crack

Christmas, in the past, had never been anything special. Typically, it felt like any other day while simultaneously leaving John feeling empty, and for the longest time, he had believed the holiday was overrated. Yet as he stared at the decorations that Annabelle, Bessie, and Susan had put together, he realized how wrong he’d been. The garland that was wrapped around the banisters, as well as the mantel, combined with the Christmas tree in the parlor, filled the house with the smell of evergreen. Warm spices mingled with its aroma from a concoction Bessie had left simmering on the woodstove. The joy and excitement that radiated from the others were tangible, and John couldn’t help but feel giddy with them as Dutch played music from his new graphophone. 

And then there was Arthur. John’s eyes had landed on him once again as he’d taken in the festive sight. He was sulking at the edge of the parlor, arms crossed tightly over his chest as he leaned against the doorframe. John frowned. He had tried to warn him about Mary. Why was it that he couldn't see her for what she really was? All she'd done in the last four months was cause Arthur heartache, and yet he was still devastated by the letter he’d received two weeks ago. John had known the nature of the letter the instant he saw Arthur’s crestfallen look, had witnessed firsthand how her words had torn his heart into pieces. Arthur’s eyes had always been a window to his soul, and John didn’t need to snoop through his things to know she’d broken it off with him (although he did manage to find _and _read the letter anyway). 

Regardless, Arthur had been beside himself, and John was starting to wonder if there was anything that could pull him out of the mire he’d sunken into. The women, of course, had tried to reassure and comfort him, and Dutch had tried in his own way. Although judging by the way Arthur had stormed out of the house, Dutch’s talk had done more harm than good. Not even Hosea could get past the barrier Arthur had put up, at least not yet. John admired him for trying again and again, and when he asked the older outlaw if Arthur would be okay, Hosea seemed confident enough that he would. All he needed was some time.

Seeing everyone doing what they could for Arthur left John wanting to help too, yet he wasn’t sure where to start or what Arthur needed. That first night, he had tried giving him space by getting into his own bed. Although he’d nearly jumped out of his own skin when Arthur asked what he was doing, and when John stammered out an honest explanation, he simply rolled his eyes and gestured for John to join him anyway. 

Today, not even the Christmas spirit that filled the room could ease Arthur’s misery. He simply looked on as the others exchanged gifts. Dutch had given Annabelle a locket with the two photos they’d taken just over a month ago, and Arthur hardly cracked a smile when she called him over to take a look.

It was then that John decided he was going to get Arthur to smile one way or another. Over the course of the week, he’d managed to stuff one trick up his sleeve. He only needed to convince Arthur to follow him down into the basement.

“Arthur!” John called as he pulled on the crook of his arm. “I have something for you!”

His eyebrows instantly drew together in a deep frown as he eyed John with a skeptic gaze. “Then bring it here.”

“But it’s in the basement,”

“Now I _really _ain’t buyin’ it,” 

“Oh, _come on_, Arthur!” he groaned. “Would you _please _just trust me for once?” 

“Like how I trusted you to keep Copper away from that skunk den? He ended up smelling worse than the skunk who sprayed him for _two_ _weeks_.”

John frowned up at him. “Would you just follow me, you sour jerk!”

Arthur rolled his eyes, and with a heavy sigh, he reluctantly indulged John by following him. Ever since he’d found the gravestones of the family who had once lived there, he’d been leery of certain places in the house. Of course, he hadn’t told anyone about his finding, especially John. While Arthur wasn’t entirely sure if ghosts were real, he wasn’t willing to risk ruling out the possibility of their existence, and if they did exist, he was convinced that the basement underneath their house was the perfect place for one. 

The only light that illuminated the room came from a small rectangular window in the far wall. Cobwebs were wrapped around most of the wooden beams above them, and the stairs creaked loud enough to wake the dead. In Arthur's opinion, it was a rather unpleasant place to be. Yet John was unphased by it all as he made his way over to a small stack of crates. Arthur followed, and his eyebrows lifted high in surprise when John dragged a long Flexible Flyer out from behind them. His eyes then lifted to John, who stood beside the sled, smiling with pride as he waited for Arthur’s reaction.

“It’s for you!”

Arthur couldn’t quite believe it, and he folded his arms across his chest. “Did you steal this?”

A frown quickly replaced John’s smile. “No! I didn’t steal it! I worked my ass off to buy this sled.”

He blinked. It hadn’t occurred to him why John had been absent most days as of late. He had assumed the kid had been avoiding him or giving him space, not saving up whatever earnings he made doing who knows what to get him a gift. Arthur’s eyes shifted to the sled once more before meeting John’s. 

“Why?”

It was John’s turn to look surprised. He scratched the back of his neck as his shoulders pulled forward, suddenly unsure of himself. “I dunno, guess I just wanted to cheer you up.”

His confession eased the ache in Arthur’s chest, and a small smile pulled at the corner of his mouth. He walked over and ruffled John’s hair before slinging the sled over his shoulder. “Get your coat on. Let’s see if this thing’s as good as the posters say it is.”

At first, John wasn’t sure if he’d heard him right. Yet Arthur didn’t give him any time to process his words before heading up the stairs. John quickly trailed after him, and Dutch raised an eyebrow as the two of them eagerly shrugged on their coats. It was his first time in the last two weeks seeing Arthur excited for anything, and he couldn’t help but grin at the sight.

“Now where on Earth did you two find that sled?”

“John gave it to me, we’re going to try it out,” Arthur answered. 

Hosea smiled wide and picked up a package at the base of the tree before walking over. “Not without this, you won’t.”

Arthur gave him a questioning look, but Hosea encouraged him to open his gift before he could say anything. Inside, he found a new pair of leather gloves that were lined with wool and far better than his old pair. He wasn’t sure how to express his gratitude, and before he could even attempt it, Hosea lifted a hand to stop him. 

“It’s a gift from all of us,” he explained. “Annabelle picked them out, said they’d last a while _and _keep your hands warm.”

He was barely able to fully thank Hosea and the others before John practically pulled him out the door. With the sled slung over his shoulder and John following close behind in his footprints, they trudged through the thick snow and up the closest hill, if one could call it that. The gentle slopes of Illinois were nothing compared to the hills and mountains out west. He didn’t remember much of his time out there, a time when his mother was alive, and his father wasn’t finding the nearest saloon or liquor bottle, but the impressive mountain ranges were permanently etched into his memory.

“You ever been sledding before?” Arthur asked as he turned to John.

John shook his head as he eagerly eyed the gentle slope. “Not really.”

He grinned as he set the sled down. “Guess you’re lucky I don’t mind sharing.”

They went down the hill together more than a dozen times with John seated at the front while Arthur steered from behind him. The cold that numbed their faces was only a small nuisance in light of the fun they were having. It was only the blustery wind that occasionally stirred the snowdrifts that sent chills down their spines, and Arthur found himself laughing for the first time in a while.

Eventually, John expressed that he wanted to go down by himself. Arthur didn’t see why he couldn’t and let him without thinking twice. They’d been out for over an hour, and climbing the snow-covered hill (as small as it was) was no longer worth the fleeting joy of sledding down it. Arthur was tired, especially after pulling John up the hill the last three times. John was heavier than he looked, despite his lanky appearance, and as the cold from his damp clothes began to settle in, Arthur was more than ready to quit. 

He stood at the base of the hill as he watched John struggle to the top. It was clear that the kid was also beginning to tire, yet he was determined to go down at least once without Arthur’s help. As John settled himself atop the sled, the sound of snow crunching behind Arthur reached his ears. He tensed and whirled around as he reached for his knife before exhaling a sigh of relief. It was only Hosea with Copper trotting happily by his side before bounding over to Arthur. He smiled and greeted the coonhound.

“I take it you all are having fun,” Hosea said with a smile before his gaze lifted to where John was. “Susan was starting to think the two of you had gotten lost and froze your asses off.”

“We ain’t lost, but she ain’t wrong about freezing our asses off,”

“Well, let’s head home then so you two can thaw,” he replied. “Dinner’s finishing up as we speak. If our dinner’s cold, it’s going to be your fault.”

Arthur snorted, yet before he could reply, Copper stood at attention and bolted. He swore as he unsuccessfully tried to grab the dog. There was no telling what he’d decided to give chase to, but as Arthur followed, he realized Copper was heading straight for John.

He came to a stop, knowing there was nothing he could do but watch it all unfold. Copper effortlessly bounded towards John, and the kid barely had the chance to look up before the Coonhound made his pounce. Perhaps, it was more of a tackle. Regardless, their collision forced John into the snow with a shout, leaving a riderless sled to slide down the rest of the hill. 

Laughter bubbled up from deep within Arthur before spilling from his lips all at once. As he gripped his stomach and doubled over with amusement, Hosea couldn’t help but smile. Since Mary’s letter, Arthur had rarely smiled, let alone laugh. The sharp change in his demeanor had worried Hosea, perhaps even more than he’d realized. The young man had kept to himself since then, becoming colder than the wintery air. It had been a long two weeks, and Hosea had tried in his own way to lift Arthur’s spirits with little success. His laughter was a sound Hosea had truly missed, and hearing it again was the best gift the older outlaw had received that day. 

Arthur’s gusty laughter echoed against the snow as John pushed Copper off him. The coonhound’s tongue lolled happily out of his mouth, and the fierce wagging of his tail was evidence enough that he was content with his work. John, on the other hand, was covered in snow from head to toe. Even from where Arthur stood, it was as clear as the sky above them that John was scowling. Yet as he rubbed his head, Copper licked both the scowl and snow off his face. Arthur heard Hosea’s soft chuckle from behind him as he walked over.

“You think he’s alright?” Arthur asked between bits of laughter.

“Most likely. He might need some ice for his head, but other than a bruised ego, I think he’s fine.”

He shook his head. “He’ll be whining about it straight through tomorrow.”

“Maybe, but I have no doubt that an extra helping of Bessie’s cookies will remedy that,” he winked.

Arthur rolled his eyes. “You all baby him too much. Kid’s practically spoiled rotten. You keep that up for too long, and he’ll start thinkin’ he can do whatever the hell he wants without any repercussions.”

He shrugged. “Perhaps, although you turned out just fine.”

“That ain’t sayin’ much,”

“Please,” he scoffed, “give yourself some credit every once in a while, Arthur.”

Arthur wasn’t sure if he could, and instead of replying, he simply left Hosea’s side to retrieve the sled. 

Copper’s hair-brained decision to tackle John was the only thing the kid was capable of talking about as they headed back. Of course, Arthur had to hear it all a fifth time when they entered the house. As John once again retold the incident, Susan fussed over his sopping wet clothes before gingerly examining his head. Sure enough, there was a bump growing just above his left temple. Hardly a minute passed before he was given a chunk of ice wrapped in a towel. He was then instructed to sit at his place at the dinner table and rest until the food was ready.

They were all almost through with their meal when Arthur decided to interrupt John’s sixth retelling to offer his side of the story. Hosea leaned back in his chair and grinned as the room filled with laughter as Arthur told his version. The young man had always had a knack for telling stories, and his smile only widened as John pouted at Arthur for stealing his thunder. It occurred to Hosea then that their little family nearly felt normal again. Between the extinguished contention between him and Dutch, and John and Arthur finally getting along most of the time, the house was starting to feel like home. While they had hastily moved to Springfield, for once, things seemed to be looking up for their little gang.

His happiness wasn’t lost on Bessie as the others chatted, and she couldn’t help but smile as she examined him. “My, look at that smile! May I ask what’s put you in such a good mood, Mr. Matthews?” 

“Guess I’m just thankful for what we have,” he replied as he met her eyes. “In fact, I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

“Me neither, and to think we nearly missed out on all of this,”

He laughed. “What were we thinking?”

“We were young,” she mused as she ran her thumb along the graying hair at his temple, “or younger, anyway. Who knows.”

Hosea hummed in thought, the corners of his eyes crinkling as he watched their unconventional family laugh as Dutch told the story of when Arthur nearly lost his fishing pole to a mere smallmouth bass. Arthur, who was now in good spirits, simply rolled his eyes and lightly insisted that it had to have been a _largemouth _bass. Annabelle was quick to support him. It was her way of soothing Dutch’s light teasing, yet despite her efforts, Susan reminded Arthur that Dutch had caught the same fish later (as noted by the two holes in the fish’s mouth) and that it was, in fact, a smallmouth. Regardless of the debatable size of the fish, John was in stitches. Arthur’s only retaliation was in the form of gently ruffling John’s hair, mindful to avoid the bump on his head. 

There wasn’t anything in the world that could convince Hosea to give any of this up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, it's been a while!! This chapter is a bit shorter than usual, but it felt right to stop this chapter where I did. Also can you tell I'm ready for fall and winter? 🤣
> 
> I hope everyone is enjoying their summer! I'm finally done with my six weeks of treatments! Thank you all for your lovely comments and support! Long story short, it all went really well! :D
> 
> Thanks for sticking around and being awesome 💛 Like, I cannot express how much I appreciate you all ;; So here, take these hearts instead
> 
> 💛💛💛💛💛💛💛💛💛💛💛💛💛💛💛💛💛💛💛💛💛💛💛💛💛💛💛


	27. Clearing the Air

Arthur stood by Hosea’s side as he nailed down the wooden siding of their house. The late winter winds had been relentless all night, causing the house to shake and scaring John shitless. It had been a sleepless night for Arthur, and while the howling wind and John’s whimpering had played a part, his racing mind had played a larger role in his restlessness. It was now February, and Arthur still found his thoughts, as well as his heart, lingering on Mary. John (damn him) had been right about how their relationship would end, but he was dead wrong about her. He would never understand the complexities of their lives, let alone what they had felt for one another. Or, at least for Arthur, _still _felt. 

He frowned. Did she still have feelings for him as he did for her? Had she already moved on with her life, finding a man who was far better than he was in every way? A frown pulled his brows together. Of course, she had found a man better than him. It was foolish to think otherwise. He was an outlaw, practically the bottom of the barrel for someone like her. The ache in his heart intensified at the thought, and he tried to focus on the ground to keep himself from breaking.

Hosea eyed his work and held his hand out, expecting Arthur to hand him another nail. When his hand remained empty, he turned to the young man to find him staring at his boots. His brow furrowed as he instantly recognized the faraway look in his eye, and he tried to call his name twice before finally giving his shoulder a gentle squeeze to get his attention. 

Arthur jumped and held a nail out for him. “Sorry, Hosea.”

“No need to apologize,” he replied as he took it. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“About what?”

Hosea gave him a gentle, knowing look. “About Mary.”

He sighed. “I ain’t sure what there is to talk about.”

“Well,” he said before hammering the nail in, “you can start with what’s on your mind, for one.”

“Guess I can’t help but wonder if she still feels something for me,” he said as he handed Hosea another plank of wood before adding quietly, “or if she’s already moved on.”

Hosea gave him a sympathetic look, leaning the plank against the house so he could wrap an arm around Arthur’s shoulders. “What she decides to do does not determine your worth, Arthur.”

He replied with a noncommittal grunt.

“I’m serious,” he insisted as he felt his heart break for him, “you’re a good man.”

He scoffed. “Good men don’t have wanted posters.”

“Arthur, what society says is ‘good’, and what _is _good, aren’t always one and the same,”

While Arthur wasn’t convinced, he sat on the thought for a while as they continued to patch up the siding. It wasn’t something he’d outright pondered before, and once again, Hosea’s words of wisdom left his head hurting by the time they’d finished. 

Annabelle greeted them as they walked inside, smiling just as warmly as the coffee that she handed them. They thanked her, and as Arthur went to follow Hosea over to the parlor, he felt her place a hand on his shoulder. He met her searching eyes with a puzzled frown.

“Are you okay, Arthur?”

He hesitated before finally giving in. “No, but I’ll be fine.”

Arthur turned away to join Hosea before she could press him further. They chatted as they sipped their coffee, and it wasn’t long before Dutch joined them. He looked about as tired as Arthur felt, and he lifted his cup to his lips in an attempt to hide his amusement. At one point during the night, Arthur had sent John to Dutch’s room, and he was glad he wasn’t the only one who had lost sleep because of John.

Hosea grinned from ear to ear at Dutch’s mildly disheveled appearance. “Looks like someone didn’t get his beauty sleep.”

The comment caused him to wrinkle his nose as he shot him a look. “Very funny, Hosea.”

Arthur couldn’t help the snort that escaped him, causing him to swallow his coffee wrong. He coughed as he set his to the side.

“Was it the wind?” Hosea asked innocently despite knowing full well what Arthur had done.

“No, as a matter of fact, it wasn’t,” he muttered as his gaze shifted to Arthur. Yet the look only caused him to laugh between coughs, and after a moment, Dutch found himself smiling too. “Is he that clingy every night?”

Arthur shrugged. “Used to be, ain’t as bad as it was.”

“I don’t know how you do it,”

“That makes two of us,”

Dutch chuckled to himself before taking a seat beside Hosea. 

Arthur wasn’t surprised when he changed the topic to their next possible score. There was a state fair that was held in Springfield each year, and while it was in August, Dutch had already started planning for something in the interim. In so many words, he’d described an elderly man with a large estate living in a manor somewhere east. The locals had described him as eccentric, and Dutch was convinced that he could convince him that they were his distant nephews who had decided to pay him a visit.

Arthur had tuned him out by then and made his way into the kitchen to help himself to more coffee. As he refilled his tin cup, John came down the stairs and joined him. His nose wrinkled at the coffee’s smell as he frowned at the drink in Arthur’s hand.

“I don’t know how you drink that _bean water_. It’s disgusting!”

Arthur quirked an eyebrow, more amused than insulted. “Have you ever tried it?” 

“No,”

“Then how the hell do you know that?” 

John said nothing.

He smirked as he held out his cup to him. “Here, try it.”

“No,”

“I _dare _you,” he said. “Bet you’re too scared.”

His frown deepened as he took the cup from his hand. “I ain’t scared!”

Arthur grinned as he leaned against the counter. “Then go on.”

He hesitated, his confidence faltering as he lifted it to his lips. When he finally took a sip of it, his face contorted instantly, scrunching up in disgust. Arthur broke out into laughter as he spitted the coffee back into the cup. He didn’t care that his coffee was now mixed with John’s spit. The kid's reaction was priceless and well worth the wasted coffee. He continued to laugh as John tried to wipe the taste off his tongue with his hands, and Arthur’s amusement earned him a nasty look from John before he marched off to the parlor. 

Arthur grinned as he opened a window to pour out his coffee. The wintry air outside sent a shiver down his spine as he closed it, and he turned to find Annabelle had reentered the kitchen. She had one eyebrow raised high as she met his gaze, and while he knew her eyes saw right through him, he decided to try and pretend that the last minute or so never happened.

“Thanks for the—”

“I saw the whole thing,”

Arthur offered her a sheepish smile. “I’d say sorry, but I kinda ain’t.”

She laughed and shook her head. “I can’t say I blame you.”

His eyes flitted to the parlor down the hall before returning to her. Dutch hadn’t been the only one toying with plans. When they had first left Milwaukee, Hosea had forbidden him to visit Mary. The older outlaw’s reasons were justified, but months had passed since his incident with Colm. Surely the rival gang leader wouldn’t expect him to return, and there was a part of Arthur that hoped seeing Mary once more would bring him some kind of closure. Of course, he didn’t dare to make the trip alone. Arthur had learned his lesson, one that he would not be forgetting it anytime soon. Dutch and Hosea would never approve, and while he loved Bessie to death, she would feel obligated to clue Hosea in on Arthur’s intentions.

Which, of course, left Annabelle as his only option for a travel companion. It would be a gamble asking her to join him on a train ride to Milwaukee, but Arthur wouldn’t be able to truly rest until he saw Mary face to face before letting her go.

"Annabelle, can I ask you something?"

"Sure Arthur,"

He hesitated, trying to find the right words. "I've been thinking about taking a train to Milwaukee. I know Hosea ain't gonna approve, but it'd hardly be a four-hour ride, and I was hoping you'd join me."

Her expression softened as she studied him. It had been a while since he had opened up to her like this, especially in regards to Mary. Yet, despite his reticence, the pain behind his eyes had always been clear to her, causing her heart to ache for him over the last few months. "Arthur—”

"I know it's stupid," he blurted as his eyes lowered to the floor, "and I can't explain it, but I need to see her one last time."

"It's not stupid," Annabelle said as she lifted his chin to meet his eyes. "I get it. When were you thinking of leaving?"

He blinked. The last thing he expected was for her to agree. Arthur had braced himself to be chastised, and to experience the exact opposite from her left him dumbfounded. Overwhelmed by her compassion, it took him a moment to find his words again. “You’d really do that?”

She nodded and smiled. “I would, especially if it gave you some peace of mind.”

Arthur wished he could express his gratitude with something more than a simple ‘thank you’, yet she gently encouraged him to start packing a few things before he could. He disappeared upstairs as she made her way to the parlor, where she found Dutch telling John the story of how he and Hosea met. While Hosea wore a frown from his selective retelling and chimed in occasionally, the slight quirk at the corner of his mouth gave away his amusement. They were both fond of the memory, and it made Annabelle smile. Dutch had always been transparent with her about Hosea, and if anything, she appreciated the positive impact the older man had on his life. Hosea provided wisdom and anchoring when Dutch needed it most, and Annabelle was grateful for it. Sometimes it took both of them to get through to the man when his plans became too ambitious, and more often than not, knowing she had a friend in Hosea helped settle her concerns for Dutch’s wellbeing.

Annabelle hesitated as she watched the three of them. It was no secret that Hosea didn’t want Arthur stepping foot in Milwaukee again. He had made that fact abundantly clear to Arthur regardless of how much he begged to visit Mary. Standing in the entryway of the parlor, she considered letting Hosea know that she would be helping Arthur do the exact opposite. Yet the hopeful look she’d seen in the young man’s eyes had her reconsidering.

“I’m taking Arthur out to Cedar Rapids for the day,” she finally said when Dutch had finished. “I’m hoping it’ll help take his mind off certain things.”

“That’s quite a ways away,” Hosea replied. “I take it you’re taking a train?”

“That’s the plan,” she said. “Has he been on one before?”

“I don’t think he has,”

“Well, he _almost _did,” Dutch interjected pointedly.

Hosea shot him a look. “That train robbery scheme of yours was going to get us all shot, and don’t you try to tell me otherwise!”

Annabelle chuckled at that as she heard Arthur come down the stairs. “Don’t worry, Hosea. We aren’t planning to swindle or rob on _this_ trip. Although the two of us do make quite the swindling duo.”

“You should’ve seen what they came back with after playing poker in Chicago,” Dutch said to Hosea. “The winnings they earned was incredible!”

“I can imagine,” he grinned. “Hell, I wouldn’t even _dream _of playing poker against you!”

“Thank you boys,” she replied as she and Arthur grabbed their jackets. “We’ll be back either tonight or tomorrow morning.”

\--

Arthur had seen plenty of trains in his lifetime, yet had never been on one up until now. To him, they had always seemed cold and uninviting. After being in so many cities, he had developed a distaste for anything industrial. Yet after stepping inside the train car, Arthur found himself proven wrong. While the interior was hardly luxurious, it was warm and welcoming. The benches were cushioned, and each window that allowed the warm sunlight to flood the train car was topped with a valance.

Annabelle led him a little ways down the aisle before stopping at the bench by the door at the end. She smiled as she gestured for him to take the seat closest to the window. He thanked her and shuffled over before she sat down next to him.

“So, what do you think?” Annabelle asked. 

“It’s definitely better than I thought it’d be,”

She laughed. “You must’ve had _really_ low expectations, then.”

“What do you mean?” 

“I’ve been on my fair share of trains,” she said, “this one isn’t the worst, but it is far from the best.”

His brow furrowed at that. “There are fancy trains?”

“Sure are,” 

“How’d you end up on one of those?” 

She cocked an eyebrow at him. “I never told you about my family?”

He shook his head. 

“My parents were socialites, which meant luxury train cars and parties were commonplace for me,”

“What made you leave all that?” he asked. 

“I realized it was never something I really wanted, and over the years, I found myself distancing myself from them more and more. I had been looking for a way out of that life, so when I met Dutch, I not only fell hard for him but also knew he was my ticket out.”

Arthur’s gaze shifted to the window as the train began to pull forward, hearing the wheels churn in their effort to move along the track. He watched as they passed the snowdrifts, and it was only when his eyes focused on his reflection in the window that he realized he was frowning, and it took him a moment to pinpoint why.

While Mary’s life was far from luxurious, Arthur had offered both her and Jamie a way out of their life just as Dutch had for Annabelle. It confused Arthur why Annabelle, who seemed to have had more to lose, chose to leave, and why Mary had chosen to stay. It didn’t make sense to him. How was the outlaw life worse than living with their drunkard of a father?

A hand on his shoulder pulled him out of his thoughts, and he turned to find Annabelle studying him.

“You never know how a person’s mind can change if given the chance,” she said.

Arthur simply nodded, hoping she was right.

The snow that covered the ground only grew thicker as they traveled farther north, and by the time they’d reached the station, a few flurries had started to fall. Arthur was instantly greeted by the bone-chilling wind as he stepped off the train, and it made him all the more grateful for his new gloves. He turned and offered Annabelle a hand, and she thanked him with a smile as she took it. 

“Well, what’s the plan, cowboy?”

He snorted, and he couldn’t help but feel his nerves fade with her light tone. “I was thinking of trying her house first, see if she’s there.”

“And then what?” 

“I haven’t really gotten that far, to be honest with you,”

“You haven’t thought over what you’re going to say?” she asked incredulously.

“Not exactly,”

“You’re telling me we spent four hours in a train car, and you didn’t think about what you want to say?”

“Well, what the hell am I supposed to tell her?” he huffed. “That she should change her mind and leave her asshole of a father?”

Annabelle tsked and took hold of his arm to stop him in his tracks. “What is it that you want to get across to her, Arthur?”

He sighed as he turned to her. “I ain’t sure. I guess part of me wants to apologize, and the other wants to know why she wants to end things.”

She looked him over before smoothing his jacket. “The best advice I can give you is to be sincere and to trust yourself.”

Arthur forced a chuckle as his eyes lowered to the snow-covered ground. “Trusting myself has only ever gotten me into trouble.”

“You know what I mean,” she sighed.

“Sure,” he said in an attempt to appease her. “I understand.”

As they approached Mary’s house, Arthur felt his heart pound faster against his chest. His nerves had returned with renewed strength, and he tried taking a deep breath but found no relief. Even Annabelle’s lingering touch on his shoulder before she parted ways failed to soothe him. He was on his own now. There was no turning back.

Arthur pulled his coat closer against himself, drew another steadying breath, and ventured over to Mary’s window. He knelt down and searched through the snow for a few stones before gently tossing them against her window. It took a few tosses before the curtains were pulled to the side, and the puzzled look on Mary’s face as she peered down at him instantly disappeared. Her eyebrows pulled high in surprise, and while Arthur marveled at seeing her beauty once again, she gaped at him for a moment before speaking. 

“Arthur?” she exclaimed. 

He offered her a smile from where he stood. “Hello, Mary.”

“Meet me at the front door,”

Arthur nodded, shoving his hands into his pockets as he made his way around to the front of the house. The door opened hardly a moment later. Mary stood in the doorway, now with a shawl wrapped around her shoulders to ward off the air’s wintery chill. Her dark eyes were wide as they took in the sight before her, and she tentatively lifted a hand as if to caress his face before hesitating, appearing to think twice as she scratched the back of her neck instead.

“I didn’t think I’d ever see you again, Arthur,”

“Well,” he said as he recalled the last eight months, “a lot’s happened since I last saw you.”

While he’d intended for his comment to be good-natured, he caught a flash of something behind her eyes as she set her jaw and straightened her posture. “What are you doing here, Arthur?”

He shrugged. “I wanted to see you.”

“And you’ve waited all these months just to show up _now?_”

“I wanted to see you sooner, Mary, but—”

“But you had your loyalties to your gang," she said bitterly, "I know."

The unspoken accusation made him frown. “I almost _died, _what choice did I have?” 

Her cold expression broke, revealing an undercurrent of sorrow. “Did you really think I’d forgotten about that?”

Arthur looked away before daring to meet her gaze again, noting how his sadness was reflected in her eyes. “Come with me, Mary.”

“I've already given you my answer,”

“I promise you we’ll figure something out for Jamie. I’ll make sure we keep him out of trouble and out of the law's reach."

She drew her bottom lip between her teeth and shook her head. “Arthur—”

"I'm sorry for the trouble I've caused and that I didn't visit sooner, but surely you want this to work just as much as I do,” he said as he took her hands in his. 

Her eyes lowered to his hands. “I do, Arthur.”

"Then why’d you send that letter?”

“Because I couldn’t just wait indefinitely for you to—” she cut herself off and shook her head.

He tilted his head, noting the way her voice trembled. Despite the dread that filled him, he dared to press her to finish her thought. “To what?”

“For you to make the decision to change,” Mary sighed. “You keep choosing this life, and I ain’t even sure if you _want _to live any differently.”

Her words stung him, more than he'd like to admit, and he blinked as they made their home in his head before piercing his heart. “Mary, please.”

Her eyes lowered to her hands.

“Just walk with me for a while,” he insisted. 

After mulling over the request, she eventually gave in with a small nod, grabbing her coat before the two of them followed the sidewalk.

They walked in an uneasy silence for a while, and when Arthur couldn't stand it any longer, he cleared his throat. “So, how’ve you been?”

"Daddy's been his usual self, if not more, and Jamie don't know what to do with himself sometimes,"

"I'm sorry to hear that,"

She shrugged off his sentiment, not wanting to linger on the topic. "And you? Didn’t you say you have a little brother now?”

He shrugged. “Something like that.”

“What’s he like?”

“Well, he’s the biggest pain in the ass I’ve ever met,” he grinned, “but I think I kinda like the kid.”

She chuckled at that. “Jamie can be the same way.”

He snorted. “I doubt it! I’d probably sleep better at night if Jamie was my brother.”

“He can’t be that bad, Arthur!”

“It took a _month _for John to stop biting me,”

“How old is he again? Five?”

“_Twelve_,”

Mary instantly lifted a hand to her face in an unsuccessful attempt to stifle her laughter. Yet Arthur couldn’t help but laugh with her, chuckling at the memories he had accumulated of John attacking him.

“I bet Jamie ain’t ever had you arrested,” Arthur finally added.

Her mirth disappeared from her eyes all at once as her face paled. “You were arrested?”

He hesitated. “Only once. Hosea got me out of there that same day.”

“Were they planning to…” she swallowed, unable to finish her sentence.

“Don’t think so,” he lied, “it was for something petty. They weren’t plannin’ on holding me for more than a day.”

She exhaled a shaky sigh of relief before gently taking his hand in hers. “I don’t think I could bear losing you.”

“You can’t?” he asked with a furrowed brow. 

“No. In fact, I hardly slept or ate when you disappeared. It terrified me to think you might’ve been dead. Still does.” She paused for a moment, giving his hand a gentle squeeze to reassure herself. “There were days between letters where the worst scenarios would haunt me. I felt like I never knew for sure if you were alive.”

He swallowed. “Then why send that letter?”

She was quiet for a moment, and when she spoke, her voice was hardly louder than a whisper. “I wasn’t sure if my heart could take any more of the waiting between letters. There’s only so much grief I can manage now that I’m the one looking out and caring for Jamie.” 

Arthur stopped in his tracks. He’d had no idea how much pain he had caused her. The pain he was even responsible for. Mary had enough on her shoulders between caring for her younger brother, managing her father, and wading through the grief of her mother’s death. To think he’d been adding to her sorrow resurfaced an all too familiar guilt to overwhelm him. It pulled at his heart as a suffocating heaviness settled in his chest.

She stopped walking to cast him a confused look. “Arthur?”

“I’m so sorry, Mary,”

“It’s fine, Arthur,”

“But it ain’t,” he argued. “You deserve better, and if you’re willin’ to give me the chance, I’ll do my damn best to be better.”

She considered his words, searching his eyes for the truth before finally sighing. “You promise to write to me more often?”

“Yeah,” he replied. “Just reply when you can.”

“I will,” a grin pulled at the corner of her mouth, “maybe I’ll be the one paying you a visit next time.”

“I’d like that,” he smiled. “We have a nice place in Springfield now. Just let me know in advance so I can tie John to a tree.”

Mary rolled her eyes. “Oh please, he can’t be _that _bad!” 

“Guess you’ll just have to see for yourself, then,”

Eventually, Arthur walked her back to her house. He would’ve spent the entire day with her if he could, but Mary knew her father would be returning home soon, and the last thing she wanted was for them to get into a heated argument. It was inevitable if he stayed any longer, and after a lingering kiss, he reluctantly bade her goodbye. 

True to her word, Arthur found Annabelle inside the bookstore farther in town where she said she'd be. She stood smiling by a shelf with a thick book open in her hands, and his eyes scanned the title _Little Women_ etched into the spine. Annabelle looked up at him as he walked over, her eyes lighting up as she observed him. 

The sad look in Arthur’s eye had retreated for now, and she exhaled a sigh of relief as she closed the book. While she hadn’t shown it, she had started to worry about him. Annabelle had met Mary a few times, and the young woman was more than capable of holding her own and sticking to her decisions. The possibility of Arthur facing rejection once again had concerned her. The young man’s heart had endured far too many fractures, and she had feared he would suffer from another, which would once again leave them trying to pick up the pieces.

To find that the opposite had happened delighted her, lifting a dreadful weight off her chest. “Well?” 

“We talked it out,” 

“And?” she pressed eagerly.

“She was just worried,” he said. “It was my fault, really. I didn’t even realize that my disappearance had affected her that badly.”

Annabelle gently pulled him into a hug. “It’s not entirely your fault, but I will agree that was a scary time for all of us, especially her. Poor thing had no other option but to sit and wait for you to be found.” 

While he nodded, it was a fact that he still couldn’t wrap his head around. Arthur didn’t think he was deserving of such pure adoration and love, and yet it was freely given to him. However, he refused to linger on the thought, knowing he would be too overwhelmed by the reminder combined with Annabelle’s embrace. 

The two of them stopped by a saloon for a late lunch, and Annabelle made sure to avoid the one where Arthur had been taken. She hadn’t said anything, but Arthur had known it when they took the long way to go to a saloon that was closer to the outskirts of Milwaukee. He once again found himself thankful for her compassion and gentle understanding, as they impacted him more than she would ever know.

As they settled into their seats for the long ride back home, Arthur couldn’t help but sigh as he gazed out the window. He wasn’t sure when he’d be able to see Mary again, but he took comfort in the fact that their communication had the potential to improve despite the distance.

Annabelle studied him for a moment before tucking a dark lock of hair behind her ear. “When are you going to tell Hosea?”

He frowned, his eyes set on the snow-covered platform and train station. “Don’t know.”

“He’d want to know, Arthur,”

“I know,”

“The sooner you tell him, the better it’ll be,”

“He ain’t gonna be happy no matter _when _I tell him,” he sighed as he met Annabelle’s eyes. “What if he forbids me from ever seeing her again? Or decides I shouldn’t send _any _letters?”

“As I recall, Hosea was the one to pull Dutch aside first when you brought Mary over,” she replied gently. “And it was your reticence that allowed Colm to capture you.”

The reminder caused his frown to deepen as he looked away. “You say that like that ain’t ingrained in my head.”

She took her hand in his, giving it a gentle squeeze as a wordless apology. “I just don’t want to see you suffer again. You keep a lot of things tightly bound and hidden deep inside, and I’m afraid it may be your downfall one of these days. You’re stronger than you realize, but don’t go looking for your breaking point.”

He was silent before he finally replied. “I won’t. Promise.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey all!
> 
> Thanks for taking the time to read this fic and for sticking around! Updates might become slower as work starts up again, but know that I still plan to continue this story when I can!
> 
> <3


	28. A Strange Reunion

Arthur studied John with a deep frown as the spring breeze toyed with his hair. At a glance, those none the wiser would have assumed that his father belonged to high society. While he was nearly swimming in the frock coat he wore, his overall appearance was (for the first time in Arthur’s experience) put together. It had been just short of a miracle that he allowed Miss Grimshaw to thoroughly wash his hair. That had been the one condition if he was to take part in the house robbery he so desperately wanted to be a part of. Arthur was amazed that he went through with it, and he made sure to be there to witness the spectacle. John fussed and whined (sometimes hissed) the entire time, and when his hair had finally dried, Arthur had to take a double-take at how dark it was. With the dirt and grime he usually refused to wash out, Arthur was convinced that the kid’s hair was dark brown. Yet, to his surprise, it was almost as dark as Dutch’s. It was jarring at first, but his shock didn’t last long before he found himself teasing John about being greasier than a used cookpot. 

Yet despite Miss Grimshaw’s efforts and the clothes Dutch had bought for John, his fidgeting was a dead giveaway of their true social status. The more John squirmed as they walked up the gravel path to the impressive Georgian house, the more Arthur’s patience dwindled. They would get nothing done if John didn’t keep his act together, and he refused to let their three-hour ride be all for nothing, let alone disappoint Dutch. If the job went sideways, Arthur had no doubt that the man would find some way to put the blame on him. John, in his mind, could do no wrong. According to Dutch, all he needed was _guidance_ and someone to _teach _him. His mistakes were only ever teachable moments, and Dutch always kept him out of reach of any natural consequences that came his way.

Arthur shook his head before slapping John's hands away from the necktie he was determined to fidget with. “Would you quit that? You’re gonna give us away if you keep doing shit like that.” 

“But it’s too tight, Arthur!” he whined. “I can hardly breathe!"

He muttered under his breath and stopped John in his tracks before loosening his tie a hair. “Better?”

“A little,”

“You remember what to steal and what to leave, right?” he asked. “Take things of monetary value, and leave whatever might be sentimental.”

“Yeah,”

“And to be discreet?” 

“Yes,”

“And don’t—”

“This ain’t my first time stealing something, Arthur!” John snapped.

He scoffed. “I know _that_, but it sure as hell better be the first time you use your damn head while doing it.”

John punched his arm for the insult, which only made Arthur snicker as he smoothed the fabric of his jacket. 

“Remember to let _me _do the talking,” he said as he knocked on the door. “You’ll just get us into trouble with that big mouth of yours.”

John didn’t have the chance to reply before a housemaid opened the door. She eyed the two of them with gray eyes that were sharp and penetrating. The woman stood between them and the door’s entrance, and despite her bristly demeanor, Arthur forced a smile and removed his flat cap before giving her a small, polite bow. 

“Good afternoon, ma’am,”

“What do you want?” 

She was quick to the point, the kind of person who had no qualms calling the kettle black. It made Arthur reconsider robbing the man who owned the estate. They hadn’t accounted for this shrewd woman, yet John piped up before Arthur could make a decision.

“Our family moved to Springfield recently, and our pa said that our dear Uncle Endicott lives here,” he pushed out his bottom lip, and Arthur was surprised by how convincingly miserable he looked. “Pa said our Uncle Endicott is lonely and sad. Can we visit him? Please? I just want to make him happy.”

Her eyes narrowed for only a moment before they shifted to Arthur. “And who are you?”

“He’s my brother,” John answered. “Pa didn’t want me walking over here by myself. He says there are robbers on these roads.”

Arthur held his breath, silently cursing John for speaking up. Surely the woman wouldn’t believe him. Her temperament was colder than ice, and it took all of Arthur’s resolve to hide his astonishment when her brusqueness melted into a wide smile.

“You are very kind, dear. Mr. Endicott has been quite beside himself lately, and his mutterings have only worsened. To be perfectly honest with you, I don’t think this winter has done him any favors. The weather ain’t kind to his bones, and he's been determined to coop himself up in his study.”

John beamed at that, taking Arthur’s hand for good measure as they were welcomed inside. The housemaid excused herself, telling them she would fetch Mr. Endicott, and once she had rounded the corner, Arthur pulled his hand free from John’s grasp. 

“I told you to stay quiet!” he hissed. 

“Like she was gonna listen to a word your sour ass was gonna say!” he huffed. “Besides, now I don’t have to hear your nagging over what to take and what to leave.”

Arthur glared at him. While he hated to admit it, John had a point. The kid would be a better distraction for both Mr. Endicott and his housemaid. What Arthur didn’t like, however, was the fact that he would be leaving John alone with two strangers. There was no telling how long John would be able to keep up his act, nor how many lies he’d be able to keep straight. 

“Holler if something goes wrong,” he said as he heard footsteps approaching them farther down the hall.

John snorted. “Ain’t nothin’ gonna go wrong.”

Arthur merely held his tongue as Mr. Endicott appeared. He wore a wide smile, and his gray hair seemed to defy gravity, reaching outwards from his head with haphazard curls that bounced with each step as he strode over. His plaid necktie was only halfway done, its warm colors bringing out the floral embroidery on the collar of his tan vest and after taking one look at the man, the only single solitary thing that was put together was the seams of his clothing, and Arthur found himself relieved that he wouldn’t be the one having to distract him.

“Ah! My dearest nephews!” he exclaimed as he pulled both of them into a tight hug. “It’s been far too long! The two of you were just wee tots when I saw you! How are you, boys?”

“We’re—”

“Oh, goodness, where are my manners?” he blurted, interrupting Arthur entirely. “Come, come! You must be starving from your walk! Let’s converse in the dining room over Miss Clark’s fine cooking. She’s quite the chef!” 

She was not, as it turned out, a fine chef. 

With his head in his hand, Arthur prodded at what he assumed was supposed to be roasted chicken with his fork. It clinked against its charred skin as he did, and he set it aside with a sigh. Thankfully, neither Miss Clark nor Mr. Endicott had noticed. In fact, he was certain they hadn’t noticed him at all. They were too engrossed in their conversation with John to even bat an eye at him. While he didn’t care to join their conversation, it bothered him all the same. 

They _adored _John, showering him with praise and affection despite hardly knowing him for more than an hour. A familiar weight settled in Arthur’s heart at the sight, filling his chest and making it difficult to breathe evenly, and he lowered his eyes to the overcooked potatoes on his plate as he fought back a scowl. 

Of course they loved John. Who didn’t?

Arthur swallowed back his rising bitterness and cleared his throat. “Pardon me for interrupting, but where's your washroom?” 

“Upstairs, and it’s the last door on your right. You can’t miss it!” Mr. Endicott replied. 

“Thanks,” 

He excused himself and made his way over to the grand staircase. Their laughter echoed from the dining room as he reached the second floor, and he shook his head before taking in his surroundings. There were a few doors already opened, and he eased his way over to one of them before peering inside. Finding it empty, he ventured past the doorway and made quick work of the room. Arthur did the same with two others, taking mostly stray bills, bonds, and inconsequential items of value. 

The last room he went into was the study. There was a noticeable chill that hadn’t been present in the others, and he chalked it up to the window despite it being closed. The draft sent a chill down his spine, and Arthur pulled his jacket tighter around himself before searching the drawers in a cherry writing desk, only finding useless papers full of haphazard writing and scrawled out notes. Not a single page made sense to him as his eyes caught fragments of sentences, each one vaguer than the previous one. The papers were more riddles than coherent sentences, hardly anything of value. Arthur didn’t think Endicott could be more eccentric than he already was, yet he was proven wrong as he found more and more of his strange writings. His brow furrowed, and due to his growing frustration, he shut the last drawer with more force than was necessary. 

Arthur scanned the room with a sigh, hoping to find something of value, and froze as his eyes landed on a large portrait hanging on a wall. He hadn’t noticed it until now, and the room seemed to grow colder as his eyes locked with the stranger’s in the portrait. They were dark underneath the brim of his tall tophat, lifeless and empty like a bottomless well. Their gaze seemed to peer into his very soul, and it caused his breath to stutter before he finally managed to pull his eyes away from the painting. Even as he hastily left the room, Arthur still felt the man’s piercing gaze on him, and he had to take a deep breath to compose himself before going down the stairs. 

When he reentered the dining room, Mr. Endicott’s gaze shifted to him. The corner of his smile twitched ever so slightly, and Arthur swallowed as he returned to his seat.

“Did you find what you were looking for?” he asked jovially.

“I did,” he replied evenly, finding the phrasing of his question odd. “Your washroom is quite nice, Uncle Endicott.”

“I’m glad _you_ think so! Miss Clark, on the other hand, thinks otherwise.”

She scoffed. “Your washroom is perfectly fine! It’s your _study _that I don’t enjoy tending to.”

He dismissed her comment with a wave of his hand. “Nonsense! It’s a perfectly fine study!” 

“Yes, a perfectly fine study if you enjoy shivering and the feeling of being watched!” 

“Is it haunted?” John asked. 

“Of course not, dear nephew! Miss Clark simply doesn't have an eye for art, and she’s far too superstitious for her own good.”

Regardless of art taste or superstition, Arthur found himself silently agreeing with Miss Clark. There was something about the portrait that he still couldn’t shake. It had felt all too real despite the artist’s bold brush strokes, and when he’d locked eyes with it, it was as if all his life choices had been weighed on a scale to be judged. The weight of every mistake and wrong he’d ever committed had blindsided him all at once, and Arthur hoped to never set his eyes on an art piece like it ever again.

Despite feeling on edge, Arthur allowed their conversation to continue for another half hour. As much as he had wanted to leave immediately, he knew doing so would only look suspicious. There was also the way Endicott kept glancing at him. Something had changed in the way he regarded Arthur as if he had caught wind of their scam. Yet, if he had any inkling, he didn’t show it. Like a smiling marionette, the man’s stare was as blank as it was when they’d first met.

“Why’s your house so empty if it’s so big, Uncle Endicott?” John asked after a while. 

“Well, it wasn’t always empty,” he answered as a wistful look flickered in his eyes. “It used to be quite lively. Yes, we used to have exceptional balls and parties throughout the year! They were the most exquisite things, as well as the talk of the town; full of all sorts of people, they were! But when my dearest Eleanor passed, I saw no need for them. A house full to the brim with people is only salt on a wounded and empty heart.” He sighed. “Heed my word, children, wealth is hardly worth its price.”

John wrinkled his nose at that. “What do you mean?”

“You’ll understand one day, dear nephew, of that, I’m sure,” he replied solemnly. “Even the best of us can’t resist its charm, but alas! I digress. Please, ignore my rambling as I fear I may be losing what little is left of my mind.”

Arthur shifted his weight uneasily before he withdrew his pocket watch to check the time. He pretended to look surprised as he read the time and hastily tucked it back into his vest pocket. “Pa’s gonna start to worry about us if we stay much longer. We had a great time, Uncle, but it’s best we get going.”

“Oh, well, do visit again! It’s been a pleasure! Yes, a perfect pleasure indeed! Next time, perhaps you’ll come over for dinner? Miss Clark makes the best stew!”

“Sure,” Arthur said as he rose from his seat. “I’ll be sure to keep that in mind.”

The truth, however, was that Arthur couldn’t get out of Endicott’s house soon enough. It took a conscious effort to walk at a leisurely pace, and he had to stuff his hands into his pockets to keep himself from fidgeting. 

John eyed him with narrowed eyes as they walked. He couldn’t recall ever seeing Arthur as nervous as he was now. It was odd, even concerning, and it had him glancing over his shoulder before looking him over once more. “What’s wrong, Arthur?”

“Nothing,”

“Liar,” he huffed as he crossed his arms. “You’ve been jumpy ever since you came down those stairs. It’s like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“Yeah, somethin’ like that, I guess,” he quietly mused. 

He hesitated. “Seriously?”

“It’s hard to explain,” 

John scowled. “If you don’t want to tell me, Arthur, just say so!”

“It ain’t like that!” he huffed. “There was a weird portrait in one room, and it felt...alive? Like it had its own presence.”

“So it was realistic, what’s the big deal?”

“But it wasn’t! The style was far from it.”

John furrowed his brow, unsure if Arthur was lying to him. Over the months, he’d become familiar with the mischievous glint that usually appeared in Arthur’s eyes when he was. Yet was absent as he recalled the portrait, and it confused John. “Who was it of?”

He shook his head. “Some strange man? I dunno, it didn’t say.”

“It was just a dumb painting,” he scoffed, attempting to ease Arthur’s fears by bluntly stating the obvious. “It’s not like it can hurt you.”

John had a point, and the fact that he was right made Arthur feel ridiculous for letting a simple portrait affect him so strongly. 

Their horses were where they’d left them at the end of the long path, and John watched with anticipation as Arthur opened his saddlebag to empty what he’d stolen. What he pulled out from his pockets paled in comparison to some of his other cons, but that didn’t stop John from being amazed. His wide eyes watched him intently, and when he’d finally emptied everything from his pockets, John exhaled a soft ‘wow’. 

Arthur raised an eyebrow at his reaction, unsure if it was genuine at first. Yet the wonder in his dark eyes never left, and as they both lifted themselves into their saddles, the first thing out of John’s mouth was if he could teach him what he knew. It made Arthur laugh.

“I ain’t sure if you can keep your mouth shut long enough!” he chuckled. 

“Oh, come on, Arthur! I can be quiet when I want to!” 

“Alright,” he smirked, “fine, I’ll teach you. Your first lesson is to stay quiet during our _entire_ ride back. You break your silence, and I won’t teach you anything else for another month.”

“_What?_”

“Starting in three…”

“That’s not fair!”

“Two…”

“You’re a jerk!”

“_One_,”

John opened his mouth to protest once more before reconsidering. It amused Arthur to no end, and he was convinced the boy would break after ten minutes. Yet as they continued their peaceful ride, John also continued to hold his silence. While he was restless in his saddle, holding onto his reins with white knuckles as he chewed on his lip, he refused to say a single word.

The longer they traveled in their unusual silence, the more Arthur’s amusement dissolved into confusion. For John to remain quiet for so long only meant that he was serious about learning from Arthur, was even desperate for it. The realization left him reeling. John had plenty of better options that _weren’t _him. The challenge hadn’t been intended to be taken seriously. Arthur had expected him to break within minutes. Not once had the kid gone without talking for so long, yet John faithfully did as he was asked, holding his tongue until they had dismounted and hitched their horses.

Arthur frowned to himself as he patted Boadicea's neck. Since when did John look up to him? And for how long had he been completely unaware of that fact? The thought made his head spin as dread filled him. He was the last person the kid should admire, and he was certainly the farthest thing from whatever he should aspire to be. His footsteps were the last thing John should ever follow, and Arthur hoped it wasn't too late to steer him away from his own rocky path. 

The new weight that came with that responsibility made his shoulders ache, and he hardly heard what John said before running inside the house.

Arthur drew a deep breath to clear his head before removing his saddlebag. Hoisting it over his shoulder, he stepped inside, where he found John telling the others about all they had done. He talked faster than a thoroughbred could run, making sure to include every detail he remembered. Arthur couldn't help but chuckle as the others tried to keep up. Now that the proverbial damn had been broken, words overflowed from John's mouth without any sign of stopping. He only paused for air, and after fifteen minutes, Dutch finally stood and gently patted his shoulder in an attempt to interrupt his long-winded retelling.

"Sounds like you had quite the successful trip! I have no doubt that man enjoyed the company of you boys!" he exclaimed.

“He wants us to come over again, but I think Arthur’s too scared of his painting to go,” 

“I ain’t scared!” he muttered. “It was just..._weird_.”

Dutch’s smile only grew at that. “Come on, Arthur. A simple _painting _is enough to keep you from going back? Really?”

He frowned as he held out his saddlebag. “Do you all want to see what I stole or not?”

Dutch laughed. “I’m only teasing you, Arthur! Although I thought it was decided that _you_ would be the one doing the distracting while John did the robbing.” 

Arthur felt his bitterness return, and he couldn’t keep it from seeping into his tone. “Apparently, John is irresistible when he ain’t looking like a mangy raccoon.”

“Lighten up a little, Arthur,” Hosea said as he rose from his seat. “Show us what you managed to take with those skillful hands of yours.”

Arthur complied, showing them the bills, the few bonds, and two gold pocket watches he’d stolen. Hosea studied the bonds with a keen eye before happily affirming that they were, in fact, valuable and that they could sell them for a decent amount. 

“You did an excellent job, Arthur,” he said with a smile. “Well done!”

“There was more in the other rooms, but I didn’t want to push my luck,”

“Something is better than nothing, and even a little something is far better than the two of you endangering your lives,” Dutch replied. “You did well, son. Both of you did well!”

John returned to his incessant chatter with the others soon after that, going on and on about anything and everything. While Arthur knew he was to blame, he didn’t regret it in the slightest. This was the John he had to put up with, and perhaps the others would realize just how insufferable he could be at times. It was actually amusing to watch as their genuine smiles became strained, and it was Hosea’s hand on his shoulder that pulled him away from the sight.

“What on Earth did you do to that poor boy?” he asked lightly with a knowing grin. 

Arthur couldn’t help but mirror his smile, knowing that he’d been caught red-handed. “He was practically begging for me to teach him what I know, and I told him his first lesson was to stay quiet the entire ride back.”

A gusty laugh escaped Hosea at that. “You’re absolutely awful, Arthur Morgan! How did he fare?”

“It was a miracle, Hosea! He _actually_ kept his silence. It was the most peaceful ride I’ve had all year!”

He considered this as he watched John prattle on about how terrible the food was at the estate. “So? Are you going to teach him?” 

He shrugged. “I dunno.”

“He did keep his side of the bargain, Arthur,”

“You and Dutch are far better teachers than I am,” he replied quietly. “I’ve nearly gotten myself killed far too many times.”

“So have we,”

“But that’s different,”

He cocked an eyebrow. “It really isn’t.”

He frowned as he shifted his weight, disliking the fact that Hosea had no reservations over the matter. “But if _I _teach him, and something goes wrong, it would be _my_ fault.” 

“And that’s, unfortunately, the risk we take living this life,” he sighed. “I wrestled with that very same fear when I started passing along my knowledge to you, still do. Hell, I even blamed myself when you came home injured.”

Arthur’s eyes flicked up to meet his. “You did?” 

“Of course I did!” he scoffed as if it was common knowledge. “You’re like a son to me, Arthur. Worrying about you is my job.”

His eyes lowered to the wood floor as he chuckled to himself. “And you do a fine job of it, old man.”

Hosea repaid him for the quip by ruffling his hair. “You ought to watch that tongue of yours! Next time I’ll make you hold a bar of soap in your mouth.”

“Sure,” he said, chuckling at the empty threat as he smoothed his hair. “Whatever you say.”

“But seriously, you should at least _consider_ teaching John. He looks up to you.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of,”

“Well, whatever you decide, know that you have the rest of us here to help you,”

“Thanks, Hosea,”

He smiled as he squeezed his shoulder. “Anytime.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This took a COMPLETELY different direction compared to what I had originally brainstormed, but this chapter was fun to write! I hope it's just as fun to read! <3
> 
> Endicott was inspired by a combination of two characters: Quincy Endicott (his surname was too great to not use) from Over the Garden Wall and Mr. Dick (yes that's his actual name) from The Personal History of David Copperfield (which was a charming movie!). 
> 
> Thank you, thank you, thank you for taking the time to read and support this fic!!!! While I may not reply right away, I do love and cherish every single one of your comments! You all are awesome ;;
> 
> Also yes, I did throw a Strange Man reference in there 😂 he's one of my favorite NPCS so I couldn't resist


	29. Fortune Favors the Bold

“Are you sure, Arthur?” 

“Of course, I’m sure!”

“But it’s _Hosea_,”

Arthur snorted as his eyes shifted from John to the man sleeping in the lush grass. His hat was over his eyes to block out the shining sun, and the sleeves of his shirt were rolled up. “He’s sleeping, John. He won’t notice a thing.”

John hesitated beside him, wringing his hands as he weighed his odds. “I dunno…” 

He placed a hand on his shoulder, leaning down so he was eye-level with him. “You’ve been learning the ropes for a whole year now. You once managed to steal an entire lockbox from the back of a carriage while the people were still in it!”

“Only because you were distracting them!” 

Arthur lifted his hands up and feigned a sigh of defeat. “Alright, alright, if you think you ain’t ready to pickpocket a man who’s sound asleep, I understand.”

Like clockwork, John frowned at him, and Arthur only grinned at the determined look in his eye as he eased his way over to Hosea. Arthur knew, however, that the older outlaw was the farthest thing from a heavy sleeper. The man slept like he had one eye open, and even Arthur’s hearing wasn’t as keen as Hosea’s. 

John, on the other hand, had no clue. How could he? The boy had shared the same sleeping space as Arthur since the day he arrived, and Hosea was always the first one on his feet in the morning.

The truth was, John didn’t stand a chance, and Arthur knew it. Yet the last month had been extraordinarily droll, and more often than not, he was bored out of his mind. Their harmless conning here and there was becoming repetitive, which left Arthur leaping at any entertainment opportunities. More often than not, they were at John’s expense, but Arthur figured John's payment was long overdue for the chaos and trouble he had caused when he first arrived.

While John’s attempt would be a failed one, Arthur had to give him credit for how silently he crept over to Hosea. The boy was a quick learner and eager to prove himself, and while he wouldn’t outright admit it, he was impressed by what John had learned in just one year. Dutch, of course, had given his two cents when he saw fit, teaching him the nuances of conversation as well as thieving, and Arthur tried his best not to let their outings get under his skin.

When John reached Hosea’s side, he hesitated before slowly kneeling down. He studied the slow rise and fall of the man’s chest and steeled himself before gingerly easing his hand into his pants pocket. A hand snatched his wrist before his knuckles could even slide past the fabric, and he let out a startled yelp as he fell backward on his arse. 

John grew red in the face as Hosea removed his hat and sat up. There was amusement in Hosea’s eyes as he studied him, and the heat in his face only grew hotter as Arthur’s laughter reached his ears. 

“When a man is sleeping, John, it’s best that you go for his satchel,” he said as he gestured to the small leather bag next to him. “It’s safer that way.”

“Yessir,”

“And don’t try to steal from experienced conmen,” he added with a grin.

John only nodded as his wrist was released, and Hosea simply chuckled to himself as the boy marched off towards Arthur. He watched as he tackled Arthur, causing the two of them to tumble into the grass.

Hosea leaned back, resting his weight on his hands as he watched the two of them wrestle. It was hard to believe that John had only been with them for almost two years. While his boys wouldn’t readily admit it, John and Arthur had, in their own complicated way, instantly bonded. Despite their bickering and occasional (or perhaps more than occasional) tiffs, Hosea was proud of how far they’d come.

His reminiscing was interrupted by the protesting hinges of their front door as it was opened. He glanced over his shoulder to find that it was Dutch, and his brows drew together as he recognized the all too familiar glint in his eyes. Judging by the wide grin on his face and his quick strides, there was no doubt that he had a plan in the works. Hosea drew a deep breath as he returned his hat to his head and rose to his feet, bracing himself for what was to come. 

“Hosea! You won’t _believe _the luck I’ve stumbled upon!” He exclaimed as he wrapped an arm around his shoulders. 

“Does it involve robbing a bank?” he asked with a cheeky grin. 

“As a matter of fact, it does!”

Hosea’s grin instantly fell. His question was intended to be a joke, and his amusement disappeared at once as Dutch led him inside the house where they could talk in private. He eagerly waved him over to join him at the dining table, where he had a few maps spread out. 

“Dutch—”

“Look, Hosea,” he said as he pointed to a building along a street, “here is the Lee and Hoyt bank. You recognize it, don’t you?”

“I do,” he answered warily.

“I took a closer look at it yesterday, and turns out there’s a small side street behind the building that goes through this row of buildings,” he followed the line with his finger, “that leads to the main road. If we’re careful, we can get in and out of there without a single hitch! Any passerby would be none the wiser as we make off with our loot!”

“I don’t see why we need to rob a bank,” he replied. “We’ve been doing just fine with the small scores we’ve been making, and the last thing we need is a larger bounty on our heads.”

He shook his head. “Haven’t you seen the shanties and hovels around here?”

“I have,” 

“Think about the good we could do for those people,” Dutch said. “The way we could help them back onto their feet. There’s a reason they’re on the outskirts of Springfield. The city and its factories only see them as a means to an end, a mere tool for progress that makes life more lavish for those sleeping in fine linens with satin pillows under their head.”

“It’s a real shame. You know I’ll always agree with you there, Dutch,” he sighed, “but robbing a city bank takes what we are, this gang that we have, to a whole new level. There will be no going back once we rob this bank. This is bigger than what we did in Kettering, and there’s no question that we’ll be in the papers.”

“You don’t think I know that, Hosea?”

He shook his head. “No, what I think is that you don’t fully _understand_ the repercussions that this will have.” 

Dutch scoffed. “Of course, I do!”

He frowned. “Then enlighten me. Where are we going to get our supplies when we have to lay low for the next month or so?”

He hesitated as his eyes scanned another map on the table that was of the state of Illinois. “Well, Jacksonville is close enough. We could go there for whatever we need.”

Hosea’s eyes narrowed, knowing all too well that he hadn’t thought it all through. He opened his mouth to reply when Annabelle walked through the door. With a sigh, he pulled out a chair and took a seat as she came over. 

“You have impeccable timing, Annabelle,” he said as he pinched the bridge of his nose, “would you please talk Dutch out of his newest ridiculous plan?” 

“I’ve already tried,” she said as she finished tying her dark hair back. “I was hoping you would have more luck.”

“Would you two just trust me?” Dutch huffed. “I’ve thoroughly scoped out the place. The bank only has one cashier at a time, and if you, me, and Arthur go when no one’s there, whoever’s behind the counter won’t even dare to sound the alarm.”

Hosea straightened at that. “You want to bring Arthur?”

“Of course I want to bring Arthur! Why wouldn't I?”

“He’s already been arrested once in that town!” 

“And if I remember correctly, you convinced them they had the wrong man,”

He scowled. “They were _drunk_, Dutch.”

“Since when did you become so uptight?” he remarked dryly. “You used to love doing the very thing I’m suggesting!”

“Oh, I don’t know, Dutch. Maybe it was when we decided to foster two boys.” He retorted. “I didn’t realize wanting to keep them safe was considered being uptight. My sincerest apologies, Mr. Van der Linde.” 

Dutch swore under his breath. "I care about those boys just as much as you do! It's why I've spent the last _month _thinking this over! We’ll be in and out of there before the law even catches wind of what we’ve done.” 

Annabelle’s gaze shifted between the two of them. The air was thick and heated, and with a sigh, she realized she would have to play the role of mediator between them once again. To test if Dutch had really thought through his plan as he said he had, she threw out hypothetical scenarios for him to walk them through. From what she could tell, and after some help, he had a decent enough plan in place. She turned to Hosea, and while his expression was still cold, the heat in his eyes had dissipated. 

“Well?” she asked.

He leaned back in his chair as he ran a hand over his face. “You do realize, Dutch, that this will undoubtedly up the ante for ourselves, right?”

“I do,” he said. “And it ain’t a decision I’m taking lightly.”

“Fine,” he sighed, and while it was subtle, Annabelle couldn’t help but notice the way his shoulders slumped forward. “We’ll rob the damn bank.”

Dutch lit up at that, smiling wide as he went over to Hosea and wrapped his arms tightly around him. 

"You won't regret it, Hosea! We'll be doing a good thing for those people."

"I hope you're right," he said with a small smile as he patted his arm, and despite the lingering dread in his gut, he had to admit that Dutch's enthusiasm was contagious.

\--

Arthur studied John as he fed Boadicea an oatcake. The kid had been ecstatic when he’d heard the news that they would be doing their first bank robbery. Yet his excitement had quickly died once he learned he would be staying behind. While Arthur understood why Hosea had made the call, he felt sorry for him. The news had crushed John. For the last two days, he had been despondent, and the cloud that hovered over him only darkened as he watched on from the porch steps as the three of them readied their horses. 

Arthur couldn’t blame him for being disappointed, and as Dutch and Hosea mounted their horses, he decided to walk over to him.

John huffed as he folded across his chest, refusing to look at Arthur. “What do _you _want?”

He ignored the question and gave him a sympathetic look. “You’ll join us one day, John. Don’t worry.”

“But when?” he snapped as his narrowed eyes met his. “I’ve been learning from you for a whole _year, _and that _still_ ain’t good enough!”

Arthur sighed. “There’s enough of us with a bounty on our head. Hosea just wants to keep you safe.”

John’s scowl only hardened. 

He scratched the back of his neck as he searched for something to say. “Can I ask a favor from you?”

He merely scoffed.

Arthur rolled his eyes and removed his hat before plopping it on John’s head. “I need you to keep this safe while I’m gone. Think you can do that for me?”

John’s eyes widened as he looked up from underneath the brim that was still too wide for him. “You really mean it?” 

“Of course,” he grinned, “that hat means a lot to me.” 

A small smile pulled at the corner of his mouth as he adjusted the hat. It was a small gesture, one that had few words to go with it, yet its implied meaning made John’s throat grow tight. The last time he’d asked about his hat, Arthur had made it clear that he wasn’t his brother. While he had done his best not to show it, Arthur’s admission had devastated him. 

The quiet reassurement that Arthur had changed his mind dulled the disappointment he’d felt earlier over being left behind, and all he could do was nod his thanks, grateful that Arthur cared about him despite their differences and the fact that he could be a pain in the ass. 

Arthur patted his shoulder before returning to Boadicea’s side. As he pulled himself into his saddle, he noticed Hosea's smile.

"What?"

Hosea simply shook his head. "Oh, nothing. Don't mind me, Arthur."

He wrinkled his nose at that as Dutch chuckled to himself.

"_My _question,” Dutch said, “is why are we still standing around like a couple jackasses? We've got a bank to rob!"

Arthur rolled his eyes and fell in line behind Hosea as they set out at a leisurely pace. While the air was charged with excitement (mostly from Arthur and Dutch), they were in no rush. The air was cool with an occasional warm breeze, and it wasn't long before the three of them rolled up their shirtsleeves to feel the sun on their arms. They laughed and chatted as they rode to Springfield, and for the first time in a long while, it felt like old times for Arthur. 

Deep in his heart and past his residual, festering bitterness, he knew he no longer wished for John to leave their gang. Yet that didn’t stop the ache in his chest when he saw Hosea or Dutch dote on him. Arthur knew he was no longer the prized pony, and as far and few between as they were, he cherished the times when it was just him, Dutch, and Hosea.

“It sure is a lovely day!” Dutch exclaimed. “Why, I feel as if we’ve already cleaned out that bank!”

“Don’t get too ahead of yourself, Dutch,” Hosea warned despite his grin.

“I know, I know,” he replied with a dismissive wave of his hand. “Say, why don’t you lead us in a song? Like old times!” 

“Those times aren’t really that old,” 

“Oh, just humor me for once, Hosea!” 

He laughed, and soon enough, they were singing along with Hosea to “Jack Hall”. Arthur smiled from ear to ear as he sang, and at the end, Dutch exhaled a contented sigh. 

“Maybe we ought to move farther west ourselves someday,”

“That would be nice,” Hosea mused.

“It’ll be our great American western adventure!” he mused, and while Arthur couldn’t see his face, he would bet money that there was a glint in his eyes, bright with the hopes and dreams he had for their future. “We’ll go out west where we won’t have to worry about lying low. Where we can be free to do as we please.”

“You really think that’s possible?” Arthur asked.

“Well, sure! Why not?” He said as he smiled at him over his shoulder. “Have some faith, son!”

Arthur mirrored his smile, forgetting his doubts as Hosea led them in singing “Dan Taylor”. 

After hitching their horses near the end of the side street that ran behind the bank, they made their way down the sidewalk to the front entrance of the brick building. Dutch held the door open for them, and Hosea put on an easy-going smile as they walked up to the cashier behind the ornate bars. The man’s glasses sat low on his round nose as he looked over the documents in his hand. His soft brown eyes lifted to them, and Arthur nearly felt pity for the man as he flashed them a genuinely warm smile. He was the soft sort of folk, the kind that naively assumed the best of people before they even said a word.

“Good afternoon, gentlemen!” he beamed. “Name’s Mr. Belford. How can I be of service?”

“Afternoon, sir!” Hosea replied as he casually leaned on the ledge at the counter. “I was hoping to help my son here take out his first loan. He’s looking to buy his own plot of land, and it’s about time too if you ask me!”

Arthur rolled his eyes as the gentleman chuckled. “I understand completely!”

“Kids these days,” he shook his head, “things aren’t what they used to be, that’s for sure!”

“Not one bit! Even my own daughter has started to get ideas above her station.”

“Now I don’t doubt that one bit,” Hosea said, and while his smile never faltered, Arthur could tell by the slight change in his tone what he thought of Mr. Belford’s opinion.

As Mr. Belford carried on his conversation with Hosea, he was oblivious to the way Dutch eyed the wrought-iron door that barred them from the loot they were after. Arthur watched him as he did, noting the calculating look in his eye before following his stare. There was a door open in the back, revealing sacks of what could only be gold. When Arthur’s gaze returned to Dutch, he was given a subtle nod, and without a second thought, he withdrew his revolver and aimed it at the man’s face. Mr. Belford stopped mid-sentence, his eyebrows lifting high as he tensed. 

A sly grin twisted Dutch’s lips. “Throw up your hands.”

Mr. Belford hesitated, and Arthur scowled as he pulled back his revolver’s hammer. “He said, throw up your hands.”

His wide eyes flicked between them, making no attempt to hide the fact that he was trying to think his way out of his situation.

“I’d do as they say if I were you,” Hosea chided. “They can be quite brutish when provoked.”

Mr. Belford swallowed as he reluctantly raised his shaking hands.

“A very wise decision, Mr. Belford,” Dutch said. “My fine patriotic friends and I are going to relieve you of that gold and introduce a few folks to the benefits of civilization.”

Arthur gestured to the counter’s locked door with his gun before returning his sights on Mr. Belford. With a shaky exhale, and his hands still held high, the man eased his way to the door to open it. 

“Make any sudden moves, and we’ll be doing more than just robbing this bank,” Dutch said as he walked past the cashier. “Keep your gun trained on him, my friend.”

Arthur only nodded as Dutch and Hosea entered the back room, snagging the man by the collar of his jacket with his left hand as he pressed the barrel of his revolver to the man’s temple. Yet he was careful to keep his finger off the trigger as he waited, and he did his best to ignore how the man shook in his grasp. The man whimpered as Dutch and Hosea went through the back room, keeping his eyes closed tight, and only opening them when he heard Dutch stalk over to them. Arthur let go of the man’s collar as Dutch hauled him over to the door that led to the back room. 

“Where’s the rest of the money?” he demanded.

“T-there’s some silver, in the s-sacks behind the desk,” he stammered. “Please don’t hurt me!”

Dutch simply shoved him out of his way as he investigated the bags. While they were small enough to carry over the shoulder, they were the farthest thing from discreet, and as he looked them over, he could feel Hosea’s skeptical gaze on him.

“They’re too bulky,” the older outlaw said. “Let’s leave them and go. We’ve already got more than enough.”

Dutch lingered a moment longer before finally giving in with a nod. “You’re right, let’s get ourselves out of here.” 

Hosea breathed out a quiet sigh of relief, thankful that Dutch had listened to him for once, before turning to Mr. Belford. He offered him a smile as he smoothed his jacket for him, placing a hand on his shoulder with a threatening grip. “Now, Mr. Belford, you seem like a smart man with common sense. Are you going to sound the alarm when we leave?”

“N-no sir,”

“Very good,” he replied as he patted his back. “That’s what I like to hear. Otherwise, our next visit won’t be so pleasant.”

They exited through the back door with their loot, leaving behind a quivering Mr. Belford, and they had only made it halfway down the side street when laughter began to spill from Dutch’s lips. 

“That was fantastic! I think our friend nearly soiled himself back there!”

“Yes, but we aren’t out of the woods just yet,” Hosea replied. 

“We’re fine, Hosea! Hell, we’re more than fine if you ask me!” He said as he turned to them. “You two were amazing! I don’t think I could’ve asked for a better pair than you two for a job like this. That was almost as fun as our time in Kettering.”

“What exactly happened in Kettering, anyway?” Arthur asked. “Neither of you have ever told me.”

He caught Hosea stiffen out of the corner of his eye as Dutch’s smile only grew wider. “Hosea’s silver tongue ain’t the only thing he has up his sleeve.”

“Dutch—"

“This man was quite the charmer back in the day,” he continued despite Hosea’s warning. “His good looks are as enchanting as a siren’s song, and could get both men and women to strip faster than a working girl!”

Hosea scowled as Arthur laughed. “Really?”

“Oh, yes!” Dutch said. “How else do you think we got that sheriff naked and bound while in a jail cell?” 

“That was a long time ago,” Hosea added dryly. “I doubt those tactics would work now.”

“I beg to differ, my friend. You age like fine wine.”

Arthur rolled his eyes at that and tried to ignore the following not so subtle exchange between the two of them, which involved a chastising look from Hosea, that only earned him a cheeky grin from Dutch. 

After mounting their horses, they made their way to the less fortunate neighborhoods on the outskirts of Springfield. As they handed out their spoils from the bank, Arthur found himself forgetting about the fright they’d caused Mr. Belford, and to see hope flicker to life behind the eyes of the people they met was worth more than the sum of their gains. They even stopped by an orphanage on their way back, where the caretaker must have thanked them at least a hundred times.

Their altruism and success that day had them all feeling more cheerful during their ride back, and Dutch even challenged Arthur to race him back for the last stretch of their ride. He accepted it with a grin and without hesitation. Yet despite his enthusiasm and best effort, he was no match for Dutch. There was no amount of encouraging or goading Arthur could do to close the distance between them. As he reached the house, the older outlaw sat in his saddle by the hitching post beside their house, smiling from ear to ear as he watched Arthur ease Boadicea to a stop beside him. 

“I even gave you a head start!” he crowed. 

“That wasn’t a fair race, and you know it!” he huffed as he dismounted. “How the hell am I supposed to win against your Arabian?” 

“It ain’t about the horse, son,” Dutch replied as he joined him before placing a hand on his shoulder. “It’s all in how you ride, and apparently, your riding skills need some work. We’ll have to fix that before you get much older. No son of mine is going to be any less than an excellent rider.”

Arthur’s brow furrowed at that, yet before he could process Dutch’s words, the man had already turned to lead his horse into the barn they had built last summer. He watched him for a moment before following suit, and it was as he was brushing down Boadicea when Hosea finally returned to the barn. 

“Well?” he asked. “How’d you fare against Dutch?” 

“Not good, he says my riding could use some work,”

“Don’t let it get to you, Arthur. Riding is an art you never stop learning.” 

Arthur only nodded as he handed Hosea the brush he’d been using, and he was quiet for a while before he finally spoke up. “Does Dutch really think of me as a son?”

Hosea cocked an eyebrow at that. “Of course, he does! Why do you ask?” 

“No reason,” he lied as he knelt down to clean the muck out of Boadicea’s hooves. 

The older outlaw eyed him skeptically before shaking his head. “Dutch has an odd way of expressing his love, and it’s usually inconsistent. He cares about you, Arthur. Don’t ever doubt that.” 

Arthur frowned as he looked up at him to find a pensive look in his eye. “Do _you _ever doubt that?”

“Doubt what?” 

“That Dutch cares about you,”

Hosea sighed and met Arthur’s curious stare. “Sometimes.”

“What do you do? When you find yourself doubting, I mean.” 

“I try to remind myself of all the ways he has shown his love. Sometimes, I recall his better days where he isn’t caught up in his own head.” He then offered him a smile. “Today will be one of those days.” 

“Do you have to do that often?” 

He shrugged. “It depends, but try not to worry about it too much. Dutch is a unique individual, and at the end of the day, its family that matters most to him.” 

Arthur relaxed at that, grateful for Hosea’s reassuring honesty and transparency. Yet he tensed as another thought crossed his mind. “You think Dutch is gonna make me do riding lessons with him again?”

Hosea laughed. “Perhaps! Although I might be able to get you out of them as long as you go fishing with me.”

He snorted. “Sure! Anything’s better than Dutch’s riding lessons.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Free time has been limited, but I was finally able to finish this chapter!! 
> 
> @Caps_Kat and I have concluded that Hosea 1) was heckin good looking when he was young and 2) most definitely used those good looks to con people. I mean, why else was the sheriff in Kettering left like that, refused to comment, and was super embarrassed? But anyway, I digress 🤣
> 
> Thanks everyone for your continued support!! Things will be ramping up some for this fic in the near future, so here's a gentle reminder to read the tags for this fic <3 <3 <3
> 
> Much love to each and every one of you and I hope you all have a great week! <3


	30. Nothing Gold Can Stay

Arthur frowned as he took a long drag on the cigarette between his fingers, watching John wave his hat to and fro in front of Copper’s face. The dog followed it with his usual grin, his head bouncing as he did. His tail wagged lazily where he sat in front of John, seeming to be only mildly interested in the hat. Yet, Arthur knew better. Despite Copper’s heart of gold, the coonhound could be incredibly sly and utterly mischievous when he wanted to. 

He shook his head as he exhaled a smoky sigh. “He’s gonna snag it from ya, you know.”

John scoffed from where he sat on the porch steps. “No he ain’t.”

He raised an eyebrow. “You sure 'bout that?” 

“Positive,” he replied confidently. “Besides, I’m quicker.”

Arthur snorted, entirely unconvinced. “Sure, just don’t go runnin’ to _me_ when you need a new hat.”

“I ain’t gonna—” 

John, however, didn’t get the chance to finish his retort as Copper latched onto the brim of his hat. He pulled it out of John’s grasp with ease and bounded away, his tail a blur as he turned and waited for John to give chase. Arthur laughed as John ran after him, swearing loudly and not caring who heard him. As luck would have it, and it usually did for John, Miss Grimshaw was far out of earshot as he chased Copper.

Dutch looked up from the newspaper he was reading when he saw the commotion out of the corner of his eye. Even from inside, he could hear John yelling at Copper, and he grinned from ear to ear as he rose to his feet to stand by the window. 

“How much do you want to bet Arthur warned him, Hosea?” he asked as he watched Copper bound out of John's reach yet again.

“My entire life’s earnings and more,”

He chuckled at that, yet when he looked over at Hosea, the man was anything but amused. Hosea had been on edge ever since they robbed the bank. All week, his eyes had been sharper than they typically were when they left the house, and he was adamant that they avoid the city for a while. Dutch had tried to tell him they’d be fine and had even tried talking to Bessie to see if she could encourage him to relax. Although not even she could remedy Hosea’s anxieties, and his fishing trips with Arthur failed to do much of anything for his nerves. Dutch sighed before folding the newspaper and tossing it at Hosea. 

In his attempt to catch it, Hosea dropped his book and muttered several swears under his breath before finally lifting his narrowed eyes to Dutch. “What was that for?”

“Maybe that will make you feel better,” he said as he walked over and pointed to an article. “We ain’t even front-page news!”

He heaved a sigh and read the small column. While he hated to admit it, Dutch had a point. Yet the unease that had coiled in his gut refused to leave. For reasons unknown to him, it had latched onto him with its icy claws. He couldn’t explain it, and he simply shook his head as he handed the paper back to him. “Regardless, we still made the news, and I thought I told you to avoid Springfield!”

“You’ve got to relax, my friend. They don’t even know who we are!” He replied. “The most descriptive they get in that pathetic blurb is describing Arthur as a big, sullen young man. I’d say that’s good news!” 

“Nonetheless, we still need to keep a low profile for the next few weeks. We can’t just go around throwing caution to the wind.”

Dutch sighed as he picked up Hosea’s book and handed it to him. “You worry too much, my friend.”

“And you don’t worry enough,”

“Touche,” he grinned. 

\--

It had been half a year since Arthur had made his trip to Milwaukee with Annabelle. Six months of trying to send more letters to Mary and trying to meet again. However, their attempts had been unsuccessful. Between Mary having to look after Jamie, and Hosea strictly limiting where the gang could go for the time being, nothing seemed to pan out for them. It was frustrating for Arthur. He could feel her distancing herself, and there was no question as to what Mary thought of the gang’s bank robbery by the changed tone and growing infrequency of her letters.

John studied Arthur with a furrowed brow from the other side of the porch as he worked in his journal. He seemed to be writing instead of drawing, but John couldn’t tell for sure. Arthur rarely revealed what he was working on, which wasn't unusual. It was Arthur's regular (and boring, in John's opinion) morning routine. What _was _unusual, however, was the fact that Arthur had allowed his facial hair to grow out. John squinted at the dark blond hair growing in before wrinkling his nose. He wasn't sure how he felt about it, but he had a sneaking suspicion that Mary was somehow involved in Arthur's decision.

"You're growing out your beard," he stated pointedly.

"And?" Arthur scoffed, not bothering to take his eyes off his journal.

"It looks weird,"

"_You _look weird,"

John frowned. "It ain't even growing on your chin right!"

It was Arthur's turn to frown as he met John's gaze. "Hair don't grow where you have scars, moron!"

"Uh-huh, sure," he huffed as he crossed his arms across his chest and leaned against the porch railing. "Where'd you get them, anyway?"

Arthur's frown disappeared at that, his eyes lowering to his journal as his pencil began to move again. "Came from some mean men, s'all. Nothin' interesting or sensational."

His nose wrinkled. "Sen-say-chanel?"

"_Sensational,_" he gruffly corrected. "Means interesting or excitin', you idiot."

"Why didn't you say that in the first place?"

Arthur simply rolled his eyes.

"How come you're just now growing it out?"

He breathed in deeply through his nose, trying to gather what little patience he had left as his scowl returned. "We just robbed a damn bank. You think I want people recognizing me?"

"You sure it ain’t because of _Mary? _You really think she’ll marry you for growing a beard?” 

The graphite tip of Arthur’s pencil snapped, and he swore under his breath. His gaze lifted to meet John’s once more, heated, and full of enough ire to make John briefly regret his words. He tensed as Arthur pinned him with his hard stare, ready to retreat into the house if Arthur decided to repay him for the comment. John flinched as he shut his journal with a loud slap before stalking into the house, slamming the door behind him, and he nearly ran into Annabelle by the stairs. 

Arthur stopped at the base of them to let her by, his eyes lowered to the floor as he tried to take in even breaths through his nose. Yet she stayed where she was, blocking his path as her perceptive gaze read him all too well. While he tried to ignore it, he braced himself for her inevitable question.

“Arthur?” she asked gently. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s nothing,”

She stayed where she was and waited patiently, wordlessly asking him for an honest answer.

He heaved a sigh. “Really, I’m just overthinking things.”

“Is it Mary?” 

Arthur forced a small smile as he brought himself to meet her eyes. “Is it that obvious?”

She offered him a sympathetic smile and shrugged. “Is there any way I can help?”

“No, not unless you have some magic letter I can send to her to make everything right,”

“Well, I don’t have any magic letters, but I _can_ help you write a love letter that might rekindle what’s between you two,”

He raised an eyebrow, thoroughly skeptical. “You can really do that?” 

“Dutch and Hosea aren’t the only ones who have a way with words,” Annabelle replied with a sly grin. 

Arthur couldn’t help but mirror her smile as she led him to the dining table, where they both took a seat. She asked to see what he’d written so far, and when she’d read his words, she simply shook her head. 

“This is what you’ve been sending her?” 

He frowned. “Yeah, why?” 

Annabelle sighed as she slid the letter to the side. “You have to do more than just tell her about your day and that you miss her. Writing, let alone sending letters to someone you love, should be something you take pride in. It’s an art that embodies and reflects our inner thoughts and feelings. It can create a masterpiece that bridges the gap between the tangible and the abstract.”

“Uh-huh,” he said. “If you say so.”

She rolled her eyes and took his pencil, opening to a new page in his journal. “Here, I’ll show you.”

Arthur watched as she worked the pencil over the page. He admired her penmanship as she did, and when she was finished, she handed his journal back to him. Arthur read the short paragraph of words that read:

_And this maiden she lived with no other thought_

_Than to love and be loved by me._

_She was a child and I was a child,_

_In this kingdom by the sea,_

_But we loved with a love that was more than love—_

_I and my Annabel Lee—_

_With a love that the winged seraphs of heaven_

_Coveted her and me._

It was a poem, and he wrinkled his nose as he looked up at her. While she had proved her point, he was still doubtful it would ever work. “Are you tellin’ me to write her a love poem?” 

She laughed. “Not necessarily! Poetry is only an example of how words can be used to make art.”

“Oh,”

“So what is it that you want to tell Mary?”

He shrugged. “That I miss her?”

Annabell turned to a new page in Arthur’s journal and handed it to him. “Alright, try writing this. Dear Mary…”

He smiled as he started to write, grateful for Annabelle’s willingness to help, and he quickly found that her eloquence was far different from Dutch and Hosea’s. While the two con men were capable of convincing someone to believe something as ridiculous as having two left feet, Annabelle could arrange a bouquet of words that could melt even the iciest heart. The letter she helped him craft was elegantly simple, peppered with symbolism and imagery to draw out exactly what Arthur wanted to convey. It amazed him, and when they’d finished the letter, he read it over and found that it eased the doubts he wrestled with when it came to his relationship with Mary.

They rose to their feet, and Arthur thanked Annabelle with a hug for her help. He would have nothing to worry about now. Surely Mary would be able to look past his social standing as an outlaw once she read what he felt for her. 

He nearly ran into Dutch on the way out, excusing himself as he slipped by him through the door. Dutch furrowed his brow as he watched him head toward the barn before his eyes settled on Annabelle. She seemed pleased with herself, and he felt the corner of his mouth pull upwards.

“Where’s he off to?”

“The post office,”

His grin fell at that. “Is he still writing those letters to Mary?”

Annabelle sighed. “Yes, why?”

He shook his head. “That woman’s nothing but trouble.”

“She might be,” she replied as she walked over and smoothed his shirt, “but as long as Arthur wants to pursue her, our job is to be supportive.”

“Even if he ends up hurt in the end?” he asked with a raised eyebrow.

“And what if he doesn’t?” she countered as she brought a hand up to his face. “What if she ends up making him happy?”

Dutch couldn’t help but scoff at the notion. “I’d like to see her make up her mind first.”

She rolled her eyes, yet her smile betrayed her amusement as she briefly pressed her lips against his. “Have some faith, Mr. Van der Linde.”

\--

Arthur rode into town with a hopeful feeling in his chest, and it was midday by the time he reached the post office. While the streets were bustling with activity, they were easy enough to navigate. The city of Springfield hadn’t quite reached its busiest hour yet, and when Arthur stepped inside, he was fortunate enough to find a short line in front of the clerk behind the post office window.

Arthur waited patiently, trying his best not to fidget with the envelope in his hands. The man who stood behind the window looked tired as he both retrieved and collected all sorts of mail, from small parcels to envelopes. When it was Arthur’s turn, the clerk recognized him at once. 

“Here again for your Uncle Cassius?” he asked. 

“Yessir,” he replied before flashing him a crooked smile. “I’m his favorite workhorse.”

That earned an amused snort from the clerk, and Arthur furrowed his brow as he left the window to retrieve a letter. He hadn’t expected to pick anything up that day, and when the man came back with a letter addressed to him in Mary’s writing, Arthur excused himself and stepped aside to open the letter.

He read it once and blinked hard at the paper. There had to have been a mistake, a mixup of some kind in the letter he’d been handed. He started from the beginning with a squint and read it once again, his heart breaking more and more with each word as they sunk in. What was left of it pounded against his ribs, tearing in two as it did. Mary’s words were sharper than a knife as she explained how she had found a nice man who intended to marry her, a man who was upstanding and fully dedicated to her and her alone. 

What they had was done, and there was no chance of restoring what they once had. Mary had made that much crystal clear in her letter. Arthur scowled, his eyebrows drawing tightly together as his anger came to life, burning hotly in his face. He shoved the letter into his pocket and stared at the envelope still in his hand, his eyes lingering on Mary’s name written in a script Annabelle had taught him that morning. His nose wrinkled, and he ripped his letter in two before marching out of the post office. 

When he returned, he removed Boadicea’s tack first and left her in their small pasture before making his way to the front door. Annabelle was there on the porch chatting with Miss Grimshaw, and her smile fell when she saw the storm brewing behind Arthur’s eyes. 

Her brows furrowed in confusion. “What happened?” 

“See for yourself,” he grumbled as he handed her the letter. Arthur didn’t bother to wait for her response as he went inside, climbing the steps two at a time as he made his way to his room, and he frowned when he found John there. 

“_Out!_” he barked as he stood by his door. 

John screwed up his face at the order. “_Why?_” 

“Because I’ll toss your ass out myself if you don’t!” he snapped. 

His tone brooked no argument. Even John was smart enough to see that, and while he didn’t want to listen to Arthur, he knew that fanning the flames of the young man’s fury was practically a death wish.

Arthur closed his door once John was clear and sat on his bed with his face in his hands. As hurt and angry as he was, he felt more foolish than anything. He should have seen Mary’s letter coming from a mile away, and he cursed himself for being blindly optimistic. It had brought him nothing but pain in the end. The unraveling of their relationship had been his fault, and he tried to steel himself against the surging wave of emotion that threatened to spill over. 

A soft knock sounded on his door, and he muttered under his breath as he gripped his head tighter. He knew it was Hosea, yet he couldn’t bring himself to answer. Regardless, he heard the door slowly open before shutting again. The mattress dipped beside Arthur, and he felt Hosea gently rub his back in familiar, soothing circles. 

“I’m sorry, Arthur,”

Arthur didn’t say anything as his breath hitched, his eyes stinging with tears that he uselessly tried to hold back.

Hosea wrapped his arm around him, pulling him close as he rubbed his arm. “Annabelle told me what happened. That wasn’t fair of her to tell you that through a letter.”

“Dutch was right,” he whispered shakily. “It was never gonna work, and I was too stupid to see that.”

“I’d say it was quite the opposite that happened,” he replied. “Mary let society dictate to her what’s valuable, and she chose to hold onto those things for dear life. While she never voiced it, she wanted you to change so you could fit inside that niche, and whether Mary realized it or not, she wasn’t willing to leave the comforts of society.”

“I still should’ve seen it coming,” he said as he lifted his head and rested it against Hosea’s shoulder. “I should’ve known an outlaw like me wasn’t worth her time.”

“Bullshit!” Hosea huffed. “You’re worth every second of _anyone’s _time, and those who don’t think so aren’t worth _your _time. Have you already forgotten what I told you?”

He sniffed. “Apparently.”

“Then it bears repeating. What she’s done and what she wrote in that letter does not define your worth,”

He closed his eyes as he tried to will Hosea’s words to travel from his head and take root in his heart. Yet the seed of doubt had already been sown, growing like a weed in the cracks of his heart.

\--

When Dutch found out that Mary had broken Arthur’s heart for a second, and seemingly final time, he was furious. He’d tried telling the others several times that she was nothing but trouble. It came as no surprise to him that he’d been right about Mary, and as he watched Arthur become a hollow shell of himself once more, he wished he could write her his own letter. Dutch had more than a few choice words for her. Yet Annabelle, as always, was there to smooth over his anger with her reasoning. She was the best at that, even better than Hosea sometimes as Hosea’s temper could burn just as brightly as Dutch’s when he wanted it to. 

Hosea had gone straight to Arthur’s room when he’d heard the news while Dutch had reluctantly stayed behind. The older outlaw had a way with Arthur that Dutch couldn’t seem to master, let alone grasp, and while that fact still troubled him, he knew better than to insert himself into situations as delicate as this. 

Between that and Arthur’s heartbreak, Dutch felt restless, and since he was unable to help neither Arthur nor Hosea, he decided to ride into town to visit the saloon. He went to the one in Springfield, of course. Dutch thought it was obvious that the bank’s clerk, Mr. Belford, was too concerned for his own wellbeing to disclose any incriminating details regarding the three of them. In his opinion, the impression they had left on Mr. Belford was enough to dissuade him from breaking his silence. They were fine. More than fine, even. After all, the newspaper had only mentioned them indirectly despite the fact they were already known outlaws, and while Dutch respected Hosea, he didn’t see what all the fuss was about.

The sun was beginning its descent below the horizon as Dutch hitched his horse outside. As it usually was at this hour, it was a lively sight inside the saloon. The sound of the rowdy piano and chatter of patrons drifted out into the street, and Dutch found himself smiling as he made his way inside. He strode over to the counter and ordered a whiskey, leaning against it before striking up a light conversation with the stranger to his right. 

Dutch didn’t know what compelled him to drink more than he usually did. Perhaps it was the jovial gentleman he’d decided to talk to and his exuberant personality, or the compounding of all that he’d repressed over the last few years. Whatever it was, it had him throwing caution to the wind and feeling emboldened.

He had been contemplating pickpocketing the man beside him when his eyes landed on a man who caused his thoughts to come to a screeching halt. There at the counter, with his all too familiar steely gaze and stony expression, was Duncan O’Driscoll, and despite the number of empty glasses in front of him, he looked more disgruntled than usual. 

Dutch instantly frowned, feeling his blood boil at the mere sight of him. The Irishman hadn’t noticed him yet, too preoccupied in his own drinking to pay any mind to anything else. Dutch felt the heat in his face grow hotter, and he curtly excused himself as he left his place at the counter. He weaved his way through the other patrons and working girls to reach Duncan, snagging him by the collar of his jacket before wordlessly pulling him out into the alley through the backdoor of the saloon. 

Duncan swore as he ripped himself free, yet his scowl shifted seamlessly into a sinister smirk when he recognized Dutch. “Well, if it isn’t the infamous Dutch van der Linde!” He sneered. “Guess my brother was right about something for once.”

“What the hell are you doing here?” he demanded. 

“Well, I _was _enjoying a few drinks,” 

Dutch’s upper lip twitched as he exhaled a deep breath through his nose in an attempt to diffuse his burning anger. “You know what I mean.”

He scoffed as he leaned against the brick wall of a building, removing a cigarette from his pocket and lighting it as if they were casually discussing the weather. “I don’t know _why _Colm ever partnered with you. You must be dumber than horseshit if you really thought my brother would give up that easily.”

“Explain,” he said through gritted teeth.

“Again, dumber than shit,” he muttered before taking a drag on his cigarette. “You know why Colm’s been tracking you. He didn’t take it well when that brat of yours escaped him, and when he read that a bank had been robbed with a bombastic flare that matched your description, he knew just where to find you.” A cold smirk pulled at the corner of his mouth. “Guess he was right. Although If you ask me, we should’ve killed that boy when we had the chance. Would’ve saved us the time we’ve wasted on tracking you lot.”

Dutch’s anger ignited like a powder keg. He fisted his hands in Duncan’s shirt and a grunt escaped the O’Driscoll as he pinned him forcefully against the wall. Not even his head thumping against the brick seemed to remove the smug glint in his eye, which only fanned the flames of the ire that consumed him. “I'd advise you to shut your mouth while you still can!”

His grin only widened at the reaction his comment elicited. “You should’ve seen him, Dutch, practically begging for mercy when we were finally through with three days of his bullshit. Half-drowned and beaten is a good look on him, keeps that attitude of his in check.”

Rage blinded him, and it wasn’t until Duncan’s sneer became wide-eyed shock when Dutch realized he’d plunged his hunting knife to the hilt in the man’s chest. He blinked, removing the knife as he stepped away. Duncan inhaled a shuddering breath as he placed his hand over the wound. It did nothing, however, to stop what was already done. The crimson mess soaking his shirt grew in spite of his hand, and Dutch watched as the O’Driscoll slowly sunk to the ground.

Dutch watched as the life in his eyes slowly left him, stunned where he stood as the man’s body grew limp. 

It took him only a moment to regain his grasp on reality. He looked up to make sure there had been no witnesses before wiping his knife clean on Duncan’s shirt. The night was quiet, giving him the advantage as he slipped out of the alley into the empty street. Dutch nonchalantly strode over to his horse, mounting him unhurriedly before riding away from the saloon at an easy pace.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welp 😬
> 
> The title was inspired by Robert Frost's poem!


	31. Pulling Apart the Dark

After knowing and caring for Arthur for fifteen years, Hosea knew it would be a while before he turned around. Mary’s letter had hit him hard, and while Hosea wished he could fix everything, he expected it to be some time before he saw Arthur smile again. Yet, that didn’t stop him from doing everything he could in the meantime. Hosea had sat with him for a few hours, at first in silence before telling him a few stories about the antics and (more often than not) trouble that he and Dutch used to get into. His stories were successful in distracting Arthur for a little while as they pulled his mind away from Mary’s scalding words, and every so often, the young man would scoff in amusement.

Despite Arthur’s half-hearted protests insisting that he wasn’t a kid anymore, Hosea stayed with him that night. He pulled a blanket over them as the young man tucked his head under his chin and was reminded of the years when it was just the four of them. With his arms wrapped around Arthur, he couldn’t help but recall those memories with fondness, savoring the sense of nostalgia that came with them. 

As usual, Hosea awoke with the rising sun and well before Arthur even stirred. He was surprised when he managed to ease himself out of his bed without waking the young man. His soft snoring continued at its slow and steady pace, and Hosea couldn't help but watch for a moment before quietly closing the door after him. He stretched his stiff joints, causing them to voice their protests to the movement with a succession of pops and cracks. Running a hand over his face, he decided to make his way down the stairs and into the kitchen. Dutch, however, was already there. The man was hardly ever awake before him, and Hosea’s brow furrowed in confusion as he took in the sight.

Dutch was seated at the dining table as he stared pensively into his tin cup of coffee with a deep frown. The man was lost in deep thought, and his hair had started to reclaim the curls he usually tried to tame with pomade. Between his uncharacteristically unkempt appearance and the dark circles under his eyes, Hosea had no doubt that he hadn't gotten any sleep. He sighed as he came around behind him, placing his hands on his shoulders to massage the tense muscles underneath his fingertips. Dutch jumped at the touch, causing Hosea to frown as the man drew a deep breath and ran a hand through his hair. 

“Morning Hosea,”

“Did you get _any_ sleep last night?” 

He shrugged as he leaned back in his chair, forcing himself to relax as Hosea’s fingers continued to work the tension out of his shoulders. 

“Arthur’s going to be okay, Dutch,” Hosea assured. “It may take some time, but he’ll bounce back.”

He only nodded as his fingers fidgeted with the handle of his tin cup. “I left some coffee in the percolator for you.”

Hosea thanked him as he walked over to the percolator on the stove.

Dutch watched him from his seat, his head still throbbing from last night’s drinks and feeling torn between holding his silence and confessing. Even he knew killing Colm’s brother had been a rash decision, and the cold sense of dread that had settled in his gut refused to leave.

“Do you ever think about getting back at Colm for what he did to Arthur?” he finally asked.

Hosea was silent as he poured himself a cup of coffee before turning to face Dutch. He lifted it to his lips as he thought over his answer. Dutch studied him carefully as he did, holding his breath as he waited.

“I do. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t, and I don’t think I ever will, but what they did to him was unforgivable.”

He nodded to himself, clinging to his words in an attempt to rationalize his actions. What they did to Arthur _was _unforgivable, and perhaps he was simply the conduit for justice. 

Hosea eyed him. “You’re not considering revenge, are you?” 

“And if I was?”

He frowned. “What happened to revenge being a fool’s game?”

Dutch shrugged as his eyes lowered to the table. “It was only a hypothetical, Hosea.”

He studied him for a moment, unsure of what to make of Dutch’s despondent mood. “Something’s troubling you.”

“Arthur’s been through a lot in the last three years,” he said, “and I can’t help but feel responsible.” 

It wasn’t a complete lie. He did feel, in part, responsible for the hardships Arthur had endured. From making Hosea leave the boy behind all those years ago, to Colm getting his hands on him, Dutch couldn’t help but look back and see his own hand in those things. He never meant to make Arthur’s life more difficult by taking him in. From the moment he first laid eyes on Arthur, he knew without a doubt that the boy had incredible potential. To let it go to waste would’ve been unfair for him, would’ve left him destitute and damned to living life on filthy streets.

He had intended to unlock Arthur’s potential, to help him discover and grow into the man he was capable of being. Yet, in the back of his mind, Dutch couldn’t help but wonder if the boy had ended up worse off by joining them.

Hosea studied him with pity before speaking. “This life is what it is, Dutch. I would shield Arthur from it all if I could.”

“You almost did,” he replied, “and I stopped you, remember?”

“What’s done is done,”

“I should’ve let you,” he said quietly as he massaged his temple. 

He sighed. The Dutch that sat in front of him was a familiar one, a man who did his best to conceal the turmoil in his mind that ravaged what self-confidence he had. Hosea was intimately familiar with the storms that raged behind his bold facade as a lighthouse was with merciless waves breaking against a rocky shore. Pulling Dutch out from the darkness that tried to consume him every so often had become second nature. While he had yet to master it, Hosea had learned how to restore Dutch’s perception of reality, knew how to soothe the wounds left behind by the doubts and regrets that clung to his mind like barbed wire.

“You know,” Hosea started as he made his way over to him, “I’ve been thinking about what you’ve been saying about Springfield, and while it wounds my pride to admit it, I think you’re right. No one’s going to bat an eye at that newspaper article, and even if they did, there’s nothing incriminating in it.”

Dutch frowned as his eyes snapped up to meet Hosea's, unsure if he had heard him right. “What are you saying?” 

“I’m saying that maybe it wouldn’t hurt to go into town for a bit,” he answered. “It might help take your mind off things.”

He swallowed, tensing at the thought of any of them going into town anytime soon. “No, I agree with you, Hosea. The last thing we should be doing is throwing caution to the wind. It’s best that we keep our heads low for a while longer."

Hosea quirked an eyebrow. “Who are you, and what have you done with Dutch?”

He rolled his eyes and exhaled a huff. “Is it really that hard to believe that I finally agree with you?”

“Not usually, but this is something you’ve been fighting me on for a few weeks,”

“Maybe I’ve come to my senses,”

Hosea snorted at that. “Sure, and I’m a law-abiding citizen.”

He shook his head before taking a sip of his cold coffee. “How’s Arthur doing?”

“It’s going to take him a while to recover from this. Poor thing thinks it’s his fault he didn’t see it coming.”

“Well, I did warn you all that this would happen,” 

A deep frown settled between Hosea’s brows. "You may have been right for once, but that doesn’t make it his fault.”

Dutch winced at his tone. “That’s not what I meant.”

“But it was implied all the same!” Hosea snapped. “That boy carries enough weight on his shoulders, and I will not tolerate you adding any more to it.”

His eyes dropped to his coffee, unable to hold his gaze. “I know.”

Hosea sighed, regretting the bite of his words as he studied Dutch. He had withdrawn once again, sinking deeper into the mire of his thoughts when Hosea had intended to pull him out. The two of them had agreed to put their arguing behind them a while ago. Yet old habits were hard to break. When it came to Arthur’s wellbeing, Hosea found it difficult _not_ to assume the worst of Dutch, and while it was mostly unintentional these days, his silver tongue had no trouble cutting him to the quick. 

He set his coffee on the table before pulling a chair out to sit beside him. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

“No, you’re right, Hosea,” Dutch said as he placed his hand over his. “The boy deserves better,” he drew a deep breath, “hell, I’m convinced that _all _of you would be better off without me.”

“That’s not true,” he replied softly. “You of all people know how cold and calloused I used to be. It was a sad mask, and it took over a year for it to crumble, but _you_ were the one who patiently chiseled it away. You chose to look past my thorns and saw what I could be, and it was _you_ who inspired me to be better. You, Dutch van der Linde, were the one who gave me a reason to lower my walls for the first time in over a decade." He paused and gently lifted Dutch’s chin to force him to meet his eyes. “I would not be the man I am today without you, and I know without a doubt that my life is better because of you. Hell, it’s because of you that this family of ours even exists.”

Despite his words, there was still a glimmer of doubt behind Dutch’s eyes. “I don’t know, Hosea.”

“You’re important to every single one of us, Dutch,” he assured. “And I’d follow you to the end of the line.”

His eyes lowered to Hosea’s lips, yet the older outlaw only pressed a light kiss to his forehead before rising to his feet.

\--

John heaved a sigh from where he sat at the dining table with his head in his hands as he watched Arthur sulk in the parlor. There was no better word for it. As he journaled in an armchair, Copper sat at his feet with his head in Arthur’s lap. The coonhound stayed by his side all week, and it seemed that even he understood that Arthur wasn’t himself. Copper tried to help in his own way, occasionally nudging Arthur’s arm and earning a good scratch for it before Arthur would pick up where he left off, just as somber as he always was.

John frowned. He’d been right about Mary again, and Arthur had been too thick-headed to pay any mind to his warnings. _Again_. Despite how much that fact frustrated him, he tried to wrack his brain for any ideas to cheer Arthur up. Sledding was out of the question as summer was on the horizon, and while Hosea had finally relented in making Springfield off-limits, John knew Arthur would sooner watch paint dry than take him into town, especially after the luck they’d had last time. Getting Arthur arrested was something he wouldn’t be forgetting anytime soon.

He did, however, miss spending time with Arthur. As much as they argued and annoyed each other, John saw him as his older brother. He looked up to him more than he did the others, and to see Arthur unlike himself once more left him wanting to do anything to help.

An idea struck him then, causing him to sit up suddenly before hastily running up to their room. 

Arthur frowned as he watched John dash upstairs and shook his head. There was no telling what went on in his head, but all he cared was that John left him alone. As Copper’s ears perked up in interest, Annabelle, who was lounging on the settee across from him, furrowed her brow as she looked up from her book. She hadn’t seen the commotion from her angle, but she certainly didn’t need Copper’s keen hearing to have heard it. 

John was lucky that they were all relatively early risers. Arthur knew from experience what it was like to wake Susan out of a dead sleep, and it was one of the quickest lessons he had ever learned.

“Was that John?” Annabelle asked.

“Yeah,”

“What’s got him in such a rush?”

“Hell if I know,” he muttered.

The peace and quiet that had returned to the parlor after their exchange was short-lived. John’s heavy footsteps as he ran down the stairs reached Arthur’s ears far sooner than he would’ve liked. He heaved a frustrated sigh that Annabelle couldn’t help but find amusing. She pulled her lip between her teeth as she lifted her book higher in an attempt to hide her grin. 

Arthur frowned and looked up as John walked straight over to him. He was thoroughly pleased with himself, which left Arthur assuming the worst of him.

“What?” he snapped.

His gruffness didn’t deter John as he smiled from ear to ear. Like a crow determined to pull on a wolf’s tail for fun, John boldly ignored his bristling. “I drew you something!”

Arthur blinked, his prickly façade disappearing in an instant as his brow furrowed ever so slightly. “You what?”

“Here,” he said as he offered him a loose page of paper.

He took the paper from him, ignoring the fact that it was clearly torn from his journal, and squinted as he studied the haphazardly drawn lines. There was a whole mess of them, and he held the page closer in an attempt to decipher the shapes John had drawn. He finally looked up at him to find that he was barely containing his excitement as he waited. 

“Are they...birds?” 

John’s lopsided grin disappeared all at once. “_No!_ It’s us! See?” He walked over to Arthur’s side, opting to sit on the arm of the chair as he pointed at the scribbles. “There’s Dutch and Annabelle, and there’s Hosea and Bessie, and…”

A small smile pulled at the corner of Arthur’s mouth as John went on. John’s drawing was indecipherable on its own, something anyone would unwittingly mistake as trash. Yet Arthur managed to see past that with ease. It was a drawing of their little unconventional family and was, in its own way, priceless. 

While there was still an ache that echoed from the depths of his broken heart, John’s drawing was a soothing reminder that Arthur was still surrounded by people who truly cared about him. Despite wanting nothing more than to withdraw into himself, the others refused to let him do so. Hosea, of course, had been the most persistent of them all, and the others, in their own way, had steadily coaxed and led him away from the thick, despairing fog that tried to swallow him whole.

“It ain’t like any of your drawings,” John said, “but I hope you still like it.”

“All you need is some practice,” he replied before smiling at him. “It’s great, John, thank you. We’ll put it on the wall of our bedroom, right over the desk.”

John lit up at that, and without saying another word, he took the drawing from Arthur’s hand and ran back upstairs. Annabelle was still smiling at him, this time with fondness. 

“That was real sweet of him,” she said.

Arthur scratched the back of his neck. “I guess.”

“He really adores you, Arthur,”

He said nothing as his eyes lowered to his journal, tapping the end of his pencil against the page as both questions and doubts clouded his mind. Arthur still didn’t understand what made John think of him so fondly. It was as if everyone else could see the reasons why the kid admired him. When Arthur looked in the mirror, he didn’t see a big brother who someone could look up to. His eyes only ever stared into a matching pair that was filled to the brim with bitter sorrow. He didn’t have Hosea nor Annabelle’s cleverness, and he certainly didn’t have Dutch’s unwavering confidence. Bessie was gentle and insightful, more graceful than a swan, while Susan had unshakeable courage with a stubbornness that surpassed them all.

In Arthur’s mind, he was the _last _person John should look up to. 

Annabelle sat up as she watched Arthur’s smile fade, noting how quickly he had shrunk back into his dark shell once again. It was a painful sight to behold, yet before she could say a word, Bessie and Hosea came around the corner. 

They were both well dressed for the play that they, as well as she and Dutch, had planned on going to, effortlessly complimenting the other in both decorum and temperament. The two of them were a perfect match, practically made for each other. It didn’t take much to see that. However, only Annabelle seemed to notice the way Dutch stared at them sometimes, as if longing for something that was miles out of his reach. She knew it was nothing against her. Dutch had been transparent about his complicated relationship with Hosea from the start, which was all she needed, and he was faithful to her just as he was to Hosea.

“Where’s Dutch?” Bessie asked.

“Most likely fussing over his appearance,” she replied as she stood and set her book aside on the end table.

“Still?” 

Hosea shook his head. “Funny how he considers the finer details when it comes to how he looks.”

Bessie elbowed him in the side for that.

Annabelle smiled in amusement before heading upstairs to their room. Dutch, however, wasn’t in front of the mirror as she’d expected. Instead, he stood by the window, staring absently at the lush trees outside. It was clear that his thoughts were somewhere far off, which had become more common as of late. She made her way over, resting her head against his back as she wrapped her arms around his waist. The tension from his shoulders melted away with her embrace, and he lifted one of her hands to press his lips against it.

“What’s troubling you this time?” she asked.

A quiet chuckle rumbled in his chest. “You know me too well.”

Annabelle smiled. “You’re also easy to read.”

Her head rose and fell with his deep sigh. “I still think sitting in a room full of people, let alone going into the city for a few hours, is a bad idea.”

“We’ll be fine, Dutch,” she replied as she turned him around and adjusted his bowtie, “and if it makes you feel better, we can leave Springfield when the curtains close.”

“Annabelle—”

“It’ll do you good to get out of the house for a change,” 

A small smile pulled at the corner of his mouth as he brushed aside a stray lock of hair and tucked it behind her ear. “What would I ever do without you?”

“Drive yourself mad, most likely,” she teased.

He snorted. “At least I won't be the only mad one around here. Susan will be looking after the boys by herself and making sure they don’t kill each other while we’re gone.”

“I’m sure she’ll manage. Hell hath no fury like Miss Susan Grimshaw.”

“Now that is entirely accurate. That woman is a force to be reckoned with.”

“The three of them will be fine,” Annabelle added. “And so will we.”

“You’re right,” he said as he held her hands. “You look lovely, by the way. That dress always makes your eyes sparkle like a pair of topaz gemstones.”

She smiled wide as she kissed his cheek. “Thank you, and as usual, you look far too dashing for an outlaw.”

He laughed and reached up to fix the locket that seldom left its place around her neck. His fingers lingered on the golden pendant as he righted it, his thumb brushing over the floral design engraved on its cover. 

Annabelle allowed him to linger as he was for a moment before taking his hand in hers. “Come on, Bessie and Hosea are waiting.”

\--

Arthur stood by the window with his arms crossed as he watched Dutch, Annabelle, Hosea, and Bessie ride out towards Springfield. Now he was sure he wouldn’t be getting anything remotely close to silence. It would no doubt be a long day, and his hunch was soon confirmed when he saw Miss Grimshaw tie her hair back and grab her satin chatelaine bag. She clearly had plans to be elsewhere, which would make him the one to look after John. He frowned. Regardless of the drawing he’d been gifted earlier, watching the kid was the _last _thing he wanted to do that day.

“Well?” she asked.

He raised an eyebrow at her. “Well, what?”

“Are you going to stand there moping all day, or are you going to join me?”

“Where are you going?” 

“There’s a fence in Decatur that seems promising,” she said as she checked her appearance in a mirror that hung in the entryway. “He didn’t take kindly to Dutch or Hosea, but you know how they can be around people they don’t know.”

“How do you mean?” 

“Well, Dutch can be downright bullheaded, and Hosea’s smooth-talking doesn’t always work in his favor like he thinks it does,”

With his interest peaked, he straightened himself as he removed his satchel from the coat rack and shouldered it on. “So what are you plannin’ on doing?” 

She shrugged and smiled at him. “I haven’t decided yet.”

Arthur returned her grin for a moment before it disappeared all at once. “What about John?” 

“He’s coming, too,” 

“He’s _what?_” 

“You heard me, Mr. Morgan!” 

“Are you sure that’s a good idea?”

“Well, the way I see it, it’s either you stay home with him, or he comes with us,”

He wrinkled his nose yet said nothing, knowing full well that they’d be asking for trouble by leaving John alone. As if on queue, John came down the stairs, eyeing both of them once he realized they were getting ready to leave. 

“What’s going on?” 

“Arthur and I are heading out to Decatur,” she answered. “You’re welcome to join us, John.” 

John, of course, quickly accepted the offer, and it wasn’t long before they were on the road to the growing city of Decatur.

The fence, according to Miss Grimshaw, was on the other side of the city. Arthur had only been inside the city limits once or twice, and being largely unfamiliar with its streets had him on edge. He rode behind Susan and John as they made their way down the crowded cobblestone street, determined to stay vigilant and aware of their surroundings. Arthur wouldn’t forgive himself if something happened to the two of them on his watch, and the thought had him resting his right hand on his upper thigh beside his holster. His eyes assessed the strangers who shared the street with them, and he concluded that he wouldn’t hesitate to draw his weapon at a moment’s notice. 

The smell of the city and its unfamiliarity had caused an uneasy feeling in his gut. The stench of factories and mills burned his nose, reminding him of the city streets he’d been damned to before Dutch and Hosea had saved him. Arthur rolled his shoulders as he tried to suppress the memories that were all too vivid despite the years. Even now, they made him sick to his stomach, and he swallowed back the nausea rising in the back of his throat as he forced himself to focus on the road ahead. 

The fence, Arthur discovered, was tucked away in an alley that ran between a butcher shop and a gunsmith. He warily eyed the alley from his saddle as Susan dismounted before following suit. Yet as he went to follow her, she turned and gave him a questioning look. 

“Just where do you think you’re going?” 

He frowned at her. “To the fence.”

She shook her head. “Let me handle this, Arthur.”

His eyes flicked to the alley before meeting hers again. “But—”

“But nothing! I can handle myself. You look after John while I chat with this gentleman. I’ll be back before you know it.”

Arthur groaned, and she offered him only a mildly apologetic smile before leaving his side. With a sigh, he turned to John only to find an empty saddle. He muttered a curse under his breath as he hitched both Boadicea and Rosie’s reins before looking around. He searched the crowd of people as his heart pounded against his chest, and it took him a moment before he found John in front of the grocer’s window that was farther down the sidewalk. Arthur released the breath he’d been holding and strode over to him with a deep crease between his brows. He firmly wrapped his hand around John’s bicep once he reached him, earning a surprised shout from him. 

“_Ow!_ What the hell is your problem, Arthur!”

“You’re my problem!” he snapped. “Don’t you know better than to wander off like that?” 

John scowled at him as he ripped his arm free. “I didn’t wander off! Why are you so overprotective all of a sudden?”

“Trouble likes to find you, and I ain’t in the mood to solve your problems today,”

“That ain’t true!”

Arthur rolled his eyes. “Whatever you say, Marston.”

“I’ll prove it to you!” he huffed. “I bet you ten bucks I can explore the city for twenty minutes without starting anything!”

“You don’t even _have_ ten bucks,” he muttered, “and if you _do _end up causing trouble, I ain’t gonna help.”

“Fine! I don’t need your help anyway!” 

Arthur’s frown only deepened as he watched John walk away, and he heaved a heavy sigh as he withdrew a cigarette from his pocket.

\--

Springfield’s theater was grand in every sense of the word. Ornate engravings covered just about everything from the ceiling to the front of each balcony. While it was difficult for Dutch to make out the finer details from where they sat towards the back of the highest balcony, they were unmistakably there. The light from the extravagant chandelier glinted against the gold filigree that ran along each column, matching the garish crowd that filled the theater.

Dutch straightened himself in his seat, resting an arm along the back of Annabelle’s chair. He couldn’t help but scowl at the sight. Going to the theater in the first place had been Hosea’s idea, and to this day, he still couldn’t figure out how his friend tolerated the repellent stench of upper-class wealth and it’s gluttonous appetite for extravagance at the expense of others. At times, he wondered if Hosea would have been found among them had his circumstances in life been different. 

A hand on his thigh pulled him out of his thoughts, and he wasn’t sure when his eyes had settled on Hosea as they shifted to meet Annabelle’s curious stare. 

“You’re tense,” she stated quietly.

He replied with a noncommittal grunt.

Annabelle brought her hand up to run her fingers through his dark hair. “Relax, my love.”

“I will try,” he replied with a smile. “For you, I will try.”

She returned his grin, and for a moment, Dutch found himself lost in her eyes.

The red velvet curtains closed after the stage actors gave their final bow, and the four of them lingered in their seats as the rest of the audience trickled out of the theater. As they waited, Bessie and Hosea discussed their thoughts on the actors and the story. Their soft laughter was hard to miss, resurfacing the ache Dutch felt echo in his chest every so often. 

He couldn’t remember the last time he and Hosea had shared such genuine laughter. Some days, it was as if they were leagues apart. Dutch had spent an entire year scaling the steep walls Hosea had built around his heart. It had taken time, and a grueling amount of effort, to reach the heart of a man who had chosen to ignore it for so long. A man who had built a dam between his head and his heart. Yet, it had been effortless for Bessie. Hosea _adored_ her. In the blink of an eye, she had fallen into their life, and in another blink, had married his best friend and, at one point, lover. 

He was incredibly grateful for Annabelle, deeply loved everything about her and who she was. Yet, despite how hard he tried to move on, there was no ignoring the way his heart occasionally twisted in his chest when he saw Bessie and Hosea together. They were perfect for each other, and Bessie was everything he knew he wasn’t. 

Dutch only hoped his shortcomings wouldn’t change what he had with Annabelle the way they had changed what he once had with Hosea.

\--

It took at least five minutes (and certainly no more than ten) before Arthur heard the quick footsteps of someone running his way. Still leaning against the brick facade of the gunsmith, he took a long drag on his cigarette before turning his head. He found John sprinting straight for him, wide-eyed and panicked. Arthur groaned as he flicked his cigarette to the side. He wasn’t surprised as John hid beside him, and he clung to Arthur’s shirt as he tried to catch his breath.

“What the hell did you do this time?!”

“I didn’t do anything!”

“Well, you clearly did _something!_” Arthur huffed as he straightened himself. “I told you you couldn’t go twenty minutes without startin’ trouble!”

“I didn’t start shit!” 

“Sure,” he replied slowly, “and you owe me ten bucks.” His eyes lifted from John to find his pursuers, who were two well-dressed men. Knowing John’s luck, Arthur could only guess that the kid had tried and failed at pickpocketing them. “What did I tell you about stealing from people who outnumber you?”

“I didn’t try stealing from them!” John snapped. “They were beating up some street kid, so I kicked one of them in the balls!”

Arthur tensed at that, his eyes giving John a quick once-over look. When he found that he wasn’t hurt, he pulled back his shoulders and stood in front of him with clenched fists. There would be no talking himself, or John, out of this one. The men who were swiftly approaching them only intended to repay John for what he did. As they skidded to a halt in front of Arthur, he could tell by their eyes that, despite their status, they were men who craved violence. The sneer that twisted the taller gentleman’s lips only confirmed Arthur’s hunch, while the other (who Arthur assumed was the one who John had kicked) stewed in his boiling anger.

“Get out of the way, boy! You’ll only make it worse for your runt of a brother.” 

Arthur scowled up at him. “You ain’t layin’ a finger on him!”

The man snagged Arthur by his shirt with both fists and gave him a rough shake before hauling him into the nearby alley. He stiffened in his grasp, eyes widening as the man leaned into his space. “That’s some big talk coming from a boy like you. Looks like you need to learn some manners.”

Arthur froze. He wanted to slug the man, put him in his place, and leave him beaten in the dirt. Yet his arms felt like lead with his breath caught in his chest.

He only snapped out of it when John leaped onto the man. The stranger swore as he let go of Arthur’s collar and cried out when John bit his arm. He swung at John, his fist making heavy contact with his temple. Arthur jumped into action as John fell to the ground, tackling the man before he could get another blow in. He quickly straddled the man to pin him with his weight, yet he was only able to get in a few blows before his friend pulled him off and put him in a headlock from behind. Arthur struggled desperately against the man’s grip as it tightened around his neck. He couldn’t breathe, and as he watched the other gentleman stumble to his feet, he knew he didn’t stand a chance against the two of them.

Arthur pulled harder on the man’s arm, his eyes flicking to John, who laid motionless on the cobblestone ground. He felt sick to his stomach, realizing he could have easily beaten the two men had he not frozen like a rabbit. This was his fault, and there was no telling what the two strangers had in mind for them. He squeezed his eyes shut as his lungs started to burn.

Dutch and Hosea would never forgive him for this, and the thought was more crushing than the man’s grip on his neck. 

“If you know what’s good for you, you bastard, you’ll let that boy go!” 

Arthur’s eyes snapped open to find Miss Grimshaw standing by the alley with the sights of her revolver trained on the man behind him. A fury he’d never seen before rolled off her in waves. She had a menacing scowl on her face, and the sharp tone in her voice left no room for second-guessing her intentions. 

The man released his hold on Arthur at once, and he stumbled to his knees as he gasped for air. Miss Grimshaw marched over to him, her revolver still raised as she took a handful of his hair and rested its muzzle underneath his chin. 

“Listen careful, now,” she hissed, her heated gaze flitting between the two men, “you bastards ever dare to touch my boys again, I’ll skin you both alive and leave you as food for the coyotes. You understand?” 

The man nodded as his friend raised his hands to show he meant no further harm.

“Good,” she snapped as she shoved him towards his friend. “Now get out of my sight!” 

The two of them scrambled out of the alley, and Susan returned her gun to her bag before helping John to his feet. He’d just started to come to, and she wrapped an arm around his shoulders to steady him as he swayed. On the left side of his face was a nasty bruise that was beginning to show its colors, and Susan tsked at the sight. 

“Are you alright, John?” she asked. 

“Yeah, I’m fine,” he slurred. “Where’s Arthur?” 

“I’m right here, Marston,” Arthur said as he walked over. 

John turned his head and squinted at him before sighing. “I’m sorry Arthur, I—”

“There’s nothin’ to be sorry for,” he replied. “Just, give me a heads-up next time you wanna play town sheriff so I can be your deputy.” 

He flashed him a lopsided grin at that, although Susan only shook her head. 

“You boys will be the death of me one of these days,” she said, her tone light with amusement. “Come on, let’s start heading back. John, you’ll be riding with me. I don’t trust you to stay on that horse of yours.”

John tried to protest against her decision as he was helped over to where their horses were, but there was nothing that could change Susan’s mind once it was made up. Arthur followed them and tied Rosie’s reins to his saddle as the two of them mounted Miss Grimshaw’s paint. They headed back to the house once Arthur had followed suit, and he felt his guilt strengthen when they arrived. 

The other horses were out grazing in their little pasture, which only meant the others had already returned. Arthur dismounted his horse and offered to take all three steeds to the barn to tend to them so Susan could look after John. She let him, although not without studying him curiously, and he turned to lead the horses into the barn before she could say a word. 

He took his time removing the tack from each horse, even to the point of oiling and polishing all three saddles. He didn’t want to face Dutch or Hosea just yet, and Arthur was in the middle of brushing Rosie down when he heard the barn door open. At first, he ignored it, keeping his back turned to whoever had joined him, and he tensed when he felt a hand on his shoulder. 

The hand forced him to turn, and he found that it was Hosea. He swallowed and kept his gaze lowered to the floor, opting to stay silent as he fidgeted with the brush in his hand. Arthur knew why Hosea was there, and he braced himself for the lecture he knew was coming. 

“John told me what happened,” 

Arthur furrowed his brow. “I swear I didn’t mean to freeze.”

“What are you talking about?”

He steeled himself and dared to meet Hosea’s gaze, surprised to find concern when he was expecting disappointment. “I froze. That’s how he got hurt.”

Hosea shook his head before slowly bringing his hands up to gently cradle his face. “What matters is that both of you are alright.”

Arthur only nodded.

“If it makes you feel any better,” he added with a smile, “John couldn’t stop talking about the way you stood up to those men.”

He scoffed. “I didn’t do shit. Miss Grimshaw was the one who scared them off.”

“She begs to differ. According to her, you left one a bloody mess and with a broken nose.”

He shrugged. 

Hosea looked him over before taking the brush from his hands. “Well, regardless of how you see the incident, we’re proud of you, Arthur. _I’m _proud of you.”

He lowered his gaze to the ground once more, and he closed his eyes as Hosea’s arms wrapped around him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HECK it's been a while ;;
> 
> I was in a pretty bad car accident and sustained a neck injury, and so between that, doctors appointments, buying a new car, and dealing with insurance, I haven't had the time nor energy to write much until now. Good news is that my neck was fixed on Monday, which finally gave me the headspace to finish up this chapter ;;
> 
> So long story short, I'm okay! Life has been crazy this month, but I'm in a much better place now. Thank you for your patience and for sticking around ;; <3 you all are amazing <3


	32. Uneven Odds

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Friendly reminder to check the tags and to read at your own discretion <3

It was different seeing John on the receiving end of Hosea’s homeopathic remedies for once. Arthur leaned against the doorframe to their room as he watched. Meanwhile, John stayed uncharacteristically still on the edge of his bed while Hosea sat beside him and applied a salve to his face. His hands clung tightly to the fabric of his pants, and Arthur could tell that the injury was painful to the touch, knew from firsthand experience how sore a shiner could be. The man in Decatur hadn’t held back when he'd struck him, and the thought made Arthur’s fists clench as he wished he had gotten a few more punches in.

Hosea was also able to read John’s tight expression like an open book. He was as gentle as he could be with his touches, taking the utmost care to inflict as little pain as possible. Every so often, he would encourage John by telling him how well he was doing or how brave he was. The tension in John’s shoulders left little by little with his praise, and it wasn’t until Susan brought him a glass of diluted cider when a small smile finally broke his stoic demeanor.

Arthur swallowed as he studied the blue and black that painted the left side of John’s face. The corner of his eye was red and angry, and it had initially worried them when John had lost his vision in that eye. Yet both he and Susan had been relieved when they'd discovered that it was only temporary, and John's eyesight had returned to normal by the time they returned home.

When Hosea had finally finished, he offered John a wide smile as he squeezed his shoulder. “There, you’ll be better soon enough!”

“How bad does it look?” he asked.

“It looks awful,” he gave him a wink, “but at least it’s something you can wear with pride.” 

John gave him a doubtful look. 

“Trust me on this,” he said before turning to Arthur, “isn’t that right?” 

“Yeah,” 

Agreeing with him came with ease, mostly because it was Hosea asking for his support. Black eyes were either trophies or targets depending on the person who wore them. In Arthur’s opinion, it was the latter that applied to John, but if it made the boy feel better, he was more than willing to play along. 

“See, John? Nothing to worry about.”

John only nodded before taking a long sip of his cider.

Susan only shook her head from where she stood, taking John’s empty glass from him when he’d finished. “Does it hurt?”

“No,”

Arthur had to bite his tongue to keep from snorting at the obvious lie.

“Are you sure? You were out cold for a bit.”

He nodded.

“Well,” she said, “let us know if there’s any pain. We need to be sure that nothing else is injured, okay?”

He nodded again, and Arthur moved out of the way as Susan left the room. After giving John one more encouraging grin, Hosea rose to his feet and made his way over to the door. Yet before he left, he wrapped his arm around Arthur’s shoulders and walked him down the hall. His warm smile fell at once when they were out of earshot, revealing the undercurrent of concern Arthur had caught wind of earlier.

“I don’t usually ask this of you,” he said quietly, “but keep an eye on him for us, alright?” 

“Of course, it’s my fault anyway—”

“Would you quit that?” Hosea huffed. “Did you force the man to knock the daylights out of him?”

“What? Of course, not!”

“Then stop blaming yourself,” he replied firmly. His scowl then shifted into a grin. “You can’t take the credit for everything that happens. You’re only just shy of twenty-five. Give the rest of us old coots a chance to take some responsibility.” 

The wink that followed made Arthur chuckle. “If you insist.” 

Hosea squeezed his shoulders before ruffling his hair, and Arthur groaned as he ducked out from underneath his hand. His reaction made Hosea laugh.

“I’m a grown-ass man, Hosea!” he grumbled despite his own amusement. “When are you gonna give that up?” 

“Maybe never,” he replied as he headed down the stairs. “Maybe I’ll never give that up.”

Arthur rolled his eyes as he fixed his hair before shaking his head. He then made his way back to his room to find John looking at himself in a small shaving mirror that sat on the desk. His brows were pulled together as he lightly prodded at the discolored skin, wincing as he did. 

“Well? What do you make of it?” 

John jumped when he heard Arthur, spinning around to face him. “I don’t know.”

He quirked an eyebrow at that and folded his arms across his chest, clearly unconvinced. 

John exhaled an exasperated sigh. “I just wanted to help you, like how you're always helping me, but I can’t even do _that _right. I’m no help, not to you or the rest of the gang.”

His eyebrows lifted high in surprise. John’s painfully honest response left him at a loss for words. Arthur had been expecting another lie or a lighthearted quip, not a soul-baring confession. He silently watched John as he laid himself down on his bed and curled in on himself. Arthur walked over to him, and a gentle tap on the boy’s leg had him scooting over, making a place for Arthur to sit on the bed’s edge.

“That ain’t true,” he said, and he was surprised by the conviction he heard in his own voice. “If that was all this gang cared about, Hosea would’ve tossed me back onto the streets on day one.”

John’s eyes widened at that as they met his. “But you two are so close!”

“It wasn’t always like that,” he replied with a small smile. “We care about you, John, and you’ll be outshinin’ me soon enough.” 

He snorted. “You're lying.”

“It's the truth! You keep practicing those skills of yours, and you’ll be outdoing me in just about everything in no time.”

John brought a hand up in a failed attempt to stifle a yawn. “You really think so?”

“Sure do,” he said as he pulled the covers over him. “Get some rest, John.”

He huffed and tried to mutter something about not being tired, yet his heavy eyelids betrayed him, and sleep overcame him nonetheless.

Arthur's smile fell as John was pulled into a deep sleep. His eyes lingered on the bruise once more, and he sighed as he rose to his feet.

When it came to Arthur's mistakes, Hosea tended to overlook the worst of them, and he was quick to search for the silver lining to them regardless of how dark the cloud was. Arthur had learned this fact over the years, noticing how Hosea rarely gave Dutch's mistakes as much grace or oversight. As much as Arthur respected the man, there was no mistaking the blinders he wore when it came to his blunders, and it left Arthur second-guessing the severity of his lack of action at John's expense. 

The boy had walked away with a shiner that would disappear in a week or so. Yet he couldn't help but wonder what John would've walked away with if he hadn't been so lucky. What if John wasn't as fortunate the next time they ran into trouble?

Arthur exhaled a shaky breath at the thought and swore to himself that, as long as he was able, he would strive to protect John no matter the cost. 

\--

Despite the weeks that had passed, Arthur was still as despondent as the day he'd received Mary's letter. When his mood did shift, it was only momentary, and while John bought Arthur's lie that he was doing better, the rest of them didn't. Annabelle couldn't help but feel partially responsible for the damage that had been caused. She had helped him try to fortify the bridge between Arthur and Mary, had given him advice, and even encouraged his attempt to romance her once more. Yet it had all crumbled before him like rotten wood, leaving him with nothing but a broken and battered heart. 

Annabelle lingered behind the front door for another moment before joining Arthur outside. He looked up from his journal as she sat in the chair beside him, offering her a small smile that they both knew was empty. 

“Evening,” he said.

“You didn’t eat much of anything at dinner,”

He shrugged. “I had a late lunch since John’s now begging me to start teaching him how to fight.”

“I would hardly call that small strip of salted beef you had lunch,” 

Arthur only sighed as his eyes lowered to his journal. 

“Is it Mary?”

He scowled. “Ain’t it _always_ Mary?”

“Arthur—”

“I want nothing more than to _not _be thinking of that woman!” he snapped. “But no matter how hard I try, I can’t stop that damn letter from playing over and over, and I wish I knew why.” He looked up at Annabelle, the anger and sorrow that he usually hid rising to the surface behind his eyes. “I wasn’t good for her, I ain’t good for John, and—”

“_Arthur,_” she said, firmly cutting him off. He tensed at her tone at first before relaxing as she brought a hand up to the side of his face. “You are enough as you are.”

His breath hitched, and he swallowed before he finally spoke. When he did, he kept his voice quiet in an attempt to hide the tremble in it. “Then why is that so hard to believe? I _want _to believe it, but I just...can’t.”

She thought his question over for a moment, taking her time to search for the right words. “I think sometimes we’re told a lie for so long that we begin to intrinsically believe it,” she replied. “And when we finally start to see that lie for what it is, there are moments when something might pull us back down to what feels like where we started, no matter how much work or effort we’ve put into believing otherwise.” Annabelle smoothed Arthur’s hair out of his face. “And it may be exhausting, but we have to continue to fight those lies and refuse to let go of the truth we’ve uncovered.”

Arthur’s eyes wandered to the lush trees. “It’s so hard, Annabelle.”

“I know,”

“Some days I ain’t even sure who I am,” he confessed. “John thinks I’m someone to look up to, and the rest of you think I’m fine as I am, although I ain’t too sure sometimes what Dutch thinks. Mary, well, she thinks—”

“What she thinks doesn’t have to matter anymore,” she replied. “And as for Dutch, he thinks you’re turning out to be a fine young man.”

Arthur snorted at that. 

“He does,”

“Sure,” he said bitterly, “a fine young man who ain’t got a lick of common sense.”

“That’s not—”

“He tried warning me about her, you know. Talked about it with me once when I was back on my feet after I escaped Colm.” 

Annabelle shook her head. “Dutch can be right about things, but he can also be very wrong about them, too. You did what was right at the time.”

“And yet I still feel like shit,”

She eyed him before rising to her feet. “I think I know just the thing that might cheer you up, or at least help you think about something else for a change.” 

Arthur gave her a skeptical look. “And what would that be?”

“That one saloon in Springfield is known for its high-stakes poker games, and it’s been forever since we’ve run a con of our own,” 

“I don’t know, Annabelle,” he sighed. “I ain’t sure how much good I’ll be to you.” 

“I thought that was the point,” she said with a wink. “You’re the brother with terrible poker skills, remember?” 

He chuckled to himself and straightened his hat as he stood. “You really think that trick will work again?” 

“I do! In fact, it was a brilliant idea, still is.” 

Arthur eyed her before giving in with a shake of his head. “What the hell, sure, but don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

She rolled her eyes at that. “You sell yourself short, and you don’t give yourself nearly enough credit.”

“So I’m told,” he grinned.

\--

The sun was beginning its descent below the horizon when they reached the saloon, casting a warm glow on everything its lingering rays touched. A pink hue had claimed what blue was left in the sky as it mirrored the brilliant reds and oranges of the sun. Its beauty caused Arthur to pause and admire the sight after he hitched his horse to a post. He couldn’t remember the last time he had stopped to take in a sunset, and he furrowed his brow at the thought.

Annabelle glanced at Arthur as she fed her Arabian mare an oatcake, and she took a double-take when she noticed the frown he wore. It was a look she knew well, one that told her he was deep in thought. “Arthur, if you don’t want to do this, we don’t have to.”

He blinked and turned to her, confused for a brief moment before he finally registered her words. “No, it’s fine! I was just…” 

“Thinking?” 

“Yeah?”

“About?” She asked as she stroked her mare’s nose. 

“It’s…” he sighed, “it’s hard to explain.”

Annabelle studied him for a moment before gently rubbing his arm. “And you don’t have to.”

He nodded and offered her his arm. “Shall we?”

“Only if you want to,” she said as she took her arm.

Arthur smiled at her, grateful for her kindness. “So, are we sticking to our usual story?”

“I don’t see why not,” she replied as she returned his smile. “You make a wonderful older brother.”

He rolled his eyes as they walked through the saloon doors. “Bullshit.”

“Just take the compliment, Arthur!” she huffed as she squeezed his arm. 

“Fine!” he chuckled. “I’m gonna sit myself down and lose a few rounds, get them comfortable before you take over and give them a run for their money.”

“Don’t lose too much money. You never know whose luck is going to outweigh your own.”

He snorted. “I’m pretty sure you’ve got enough luck to outweigh all of us!” 

“Well, I appreciate the sentiment,” she said, “but you can’t win a poker game on sentiment alone.”

“I s’pose not,” he mused before giving her some money from his pocket. “Here, have a drink on me. I’ll signal for you when it's time.”

“Ever the gentleman,” she grinned before giving him a peck on his cheek. 

Arthur smiled and watched her as she made a place for herself at the bar. Adjusting his hat, he made his way over to the poker table where there were several men. They were well dressed, as the men in Springfield usually were, and were already a few drinks in. Arthur eyed the chips in the pot as he walked over to a chair, noting that Annabelle was right about the games being high-stakes. As he pulled out a high-back chair, one of the men at the table looked him over. Despite the laughter he shared with the others, there was a glint in his eye that Arthur didn’t like. His smile was anything but welcoming and was eerily reminiscent of a coyote’s grin.

“Why, what do we have here, fellas?” he asked. “Looks like we have another yokel who thinks he can play.”

“I think his cousin was in here earlier,” another sneered as he shuffled the deck of cards, his mustache twisting with his smile. “Ended up losing every cent he owned.”

Arthur narrowed his eyes as he took a seat, and it took everything he had to bite back the snarky comment on his tongue. “Are you gonna keep talking, or are you gonna deal me in?” 

The dealer snorted as he dealt the cards. “If you insist!”

As Arthur settled into the game, he found himself looking forward to the satisfying moment when Annabelle would beat them at their own game. They wouldn’t see it coming, too blind with their own pride to catch wind of the con that was under their noses. He was itching to see the arrogant men put in their place, and had Annabelle not been there, Arthur would’ve had half a mind to wipe the grin off the man’s face himself.

Choosing to lose the poker rounds physically pained him as it only earned him more snickers and jeers. He knew he was considerably underdressed compared to the three of them. Yet, he knew that it was best that they underestimate him. Getting them comfortable and overly confident was his job, and Arthur was determined to play his part for Annabelle even at the cost of his pride. 

“I don’t understand why you folk think you’re capable of playing poker with the likes of us,” the first man said as he raised the bet. 

Arthur clenched his left fist underneath the table. “My folk?”

The man’s smirk only widened. “No offense, but you’re wasting your time here. Shouldn’t you be tending to some cattle or pigs? Can you even _read_ those cards?”

He drew a deep steadying breath through his nose and chose to stare at his winning hand, grudgingly choosing to fold for the third time that night. A familiar heat came to life in his chest, trying to claw its way out as Arthur forced himself to swallow it back. “No offense, but ain’t you too big for your britches?”

The gentleman’s smile dropped at that, shifting into a glare. “Someone ought to teach you some respect, son.” 

“Funny, I didn’t think a man like you even had that word in your vocabulary,”

“Maybe if you played how you talked, you’d actually win a round,”

Arthur glanced up at the bar, deciding to finally tap out and let Annabelle have her turn. He’d had enough, and he didn’t trust himself _not _to do anything he’d regret later. His eyes searched for her dark hair among the crowd of people, and he frowned when he failed to find her. He scanned the people at the bar again before looking for her among the patrons seated at the tables throughout the saloon. 

When he still didn’t find her, he excused himself, ignoring the men’s derisive laughter and mockery as he hastily left the poker table. Arthur strode over to the bar and signaled for the bartender to get his attention.

"Excuse me, sir, have you seen my sister? She’s shorter than me with dark hair and blue eyes. She was just here thirty minutes ago."

The bartender frowned for a brief moment in thought, scratching his receding hairline before his eyes lit up with recognition. "Yes, actually! She left through the backdoor with another gentleman.”

Arthur tilted his head at that, feeling his head hurt as he tried to make sense of the situation and wondering how he’d missed that. “She left with another gentleman?” 

“Sure did. I know it's none of my concern, but it looked to me that they intended to talk business instead of leaving to do other things if you know what I mean. Seemed like a payment was due.”

He thanked the bartender as he felt a familiar cold sense of dread coil in his gut. He wasted no time heading over to the backdoor the bartender had gestured to, stepping into the alley where he was greeted by both the dark and the alley’s silence. Arthur blinked as his eyes adjusted, glancing both to his left and right. There wasn’t much he could make out of the darkness. A lamppost by the main street was his only source of light, and it was barely enough to silhouette the crates and sacks that crowded the path.

“Annabelle?” he called as he hovered his hand over his revolver.

A quiet groan sounded to his right. “Over here.”

He swallowed. Her voice was uncharacteristically soft, and the tremor within it had his heart beating hard against his ribs. A sharp hitch in breath reached his ears as he carefully made his way over to her, and the sight he saw caused the air to catch in his lungs.

He froze. 

Even in the darkness, Arthur could see the dark stain that had soaked the fabric around her waistline. He blinked once before dropping to his knees by her side, his eyes frantically looking her over. It didn’t take long to find the wound, and he pulled her hands away to replace them with his own. He knew without a doubt that it was from a knife, and he only hoped it wasn’t as deep as it seemed to be.

“Stay with me, Annabelle,” he said as he met her heavy eyes. “You can’t—” he stopped himself and regathered his wits— “who did this?”

She winced as he increased the pressure on the injury, and Arthur whispered an apology as she drew a shaky breath. "Not sure.” 

The warmth seeping through Arthur’s hands filled him with a fresh wave of panic. “I’m gonna get you home, alright?”

She only nodded, and Arthur brought her hand back to put pressure on the wound so he could use his hunting knife to tear off the hem of her dress. He then wrapped it tightly around her as a makeshift bandage, and she tensed as he cinched it. Drawing a deep breath, he steeled himself and met her eyes again. There was no mistaking the amount of pain she was in, and it made Arthur’s heart twist painfully in his chest. “I’m gonna carry you, alright?”

Annabelle dipped her chin in a small nod, her expression tight as she squeezed her eyes shut. As gingerly and carefully as he could, Arthur slid his arms around her and lifted her. She cried out at the movement, clinging to his shoulders tightly and digging her fingers into them. He breathed out another apology as he carried her to her horse, and yet several more as he helped her into the saddle. After settling himself behind Annabelle, he wrapped an arm around her to brace her as he urged the Arabian to a gallop. 

\--

Hosea massaged his temple as he eyed the paper in front of him and Dutch on the dining table. On it, in his handwriting, was a summary of their finances for the month. Between Dutch being uncharacteristically precautious, and staying low due to their bold bank robbery, the money that they had was starting to wear thin. It was concerning how tight things were, especially with fall on the horizon. The last thing Hosea wanted was for winter to take them by surprise, and it was a risk he refused to take. Yet, their options in Springfield were limited. Hosea heaved a sigh, leaning back in his chair as he searched for another idea as Dutch stroked his mustache in thought. 

“We could rob another bank,”

Hosea scoffed. “Are you kidding? Not in this town.”

His eyes lifted from the paper to linger on Hosea. “Then we head west.”

Hosea lifted his head from his hand, brows furrowing as he studied him. “I thought that was just another daydream of yours. You really want to head west?”

He shrugged. “It’s one of the few places we can settle down where people don’t know our names.”

“I thought you weren’t the settling type,” he replied slowly. “When I left with Bessie, you told me that none of us were fit for the quiet life.”

“That was years ago,” he said. His voice was quiet as his eyes returned to Hosea’s elegant script. “Maybe I’ve changed my mind.”

Hosea looked him over, regarding Dutch in a new light as he turned over his words. “You serious?”

He drew a deep breath and summoned the courage to hold his gaze. “I promise, Hosea. Those boys, the women, _you_...this family of ours deserves a stable home. A place where we won’t ever have to uproot from again.” 

Hosea searched his eyes for a long moment. There was a part of him that didn’t want to question Dutch. A part that wanted to take the man for his word and to trust in his promise. Yet, he couldn’t ignore the whisper of doubt in his ear. Dutch had never settled for anything in his life. Not once had Hosea seen him be satisfied with anything, and knowing that fact left him wondering what the catch was to his new plan. “Dutch, I—”

The front door banged loudly against the wall, interrupting his thought as the two of them rose to their feet. Their hands were on their revolvers in an instant, yet nothing could’ve prepared them for the sight they saw when they rushed out of the dining room. 

Both Arthur and Annabelle were covered in blood as he carried her inside, and Hosea’s heart seized in his chest as he tried to make sense of it. 

The unmistakable fear in Arthur’s eyes.

Annabelle’s pallid face as she lay limp in Arthur’s arms.

As brief as the moment was, it seemed to last a lifetime.

“Upstairs!” Hosea finally managed to say. “Get her upstairs now!” 

He skirted around Dutch, who eventually managed to will his feet to move before following Arthur up the steps. As Hosea rushed into the kitchen and rummaged through the cabinets to gather anything that they had, Susan ventured over from her bedroom down the hall to see what all the commotion was about. 

“What in the world is going on, Hosea? What’s all the racket for?” 

“I don’t know the details, but Annabelle’s hurt. It’s bad” he said as he gestured for her to come over. “I need your help.” 

Susan didn’t hesitate to jump into action, opting to assist him instead of asking any further questions, and Hosea was immeasurably grateful for that.

They hastily made their way upstairs and into the room Dutch and Annabelle shared. She was on the bed, grimacing as pained moans escaped her. Dutch was by her side on the bed, holding her bloody hand and talking to her in a hushed tone as he held back the tears in his eyes. Like clockwork, Susan and Hosea made their place at the side of the bed while Arthur stared on in horror by the door. 

It pained Hosea to see both Dutch and Arthur as distraught as they were, but he knew there was no time to comfort either of them. As Susan removed the bandage, they found that Annabelle was still bleeding, and she couldn’t afford to lose any second of their care.

It wasn’t long after when Bessie joined them. While she had tried and failed at stifling her gasp, she was quick to gently coax Arthur out of the crowded room. Hosea had no doubt that she would know what the young man needed, and he was grateful when she shut the door after them. John didn’t need to witness the horror that had unfolded, and it gave them the privacy they needed to tend to Annabelle. 

The wound was a nasty one, deep and gaping. Its sight made Hosea’s mouth go dry, and he steeled himself as he retrieved the antiseptic from where he’d placed it on the nightstand. Annabelle saw it in his hand and braced herself, clenching her jaw as she squeezed her eyes shut. Dutch’s eyes nervously flitted between the wound and Hosea, and he held her hand with both of his as he rested his forehead against her temple. 

When the worst of it was over, and the worst of Annabelle's pain had subsided, Dutch swept a lock of her hair out of her face. “Who did this to you?”

Annabelle exhaled a shaky breath before drawing another sharp one as Hosea closely examined the wound. She then shook her head. 

“Annabelle?”

“Don’t—” she paused and winced from Hosea's care— “I’m sorry.”

“What do you mean?”

“He threatened to kill Arthur if I didn’t talk to him outside,” she replied. “It’s my fault. I should've seen it coming.”

Hosea’s frown deepened as he briefly glanced up at Annabelle. “Who threatened you?”

“I think it was Colm. He said you killed his brother, Dutch,” 

Both Dutch and Hosea froze.

She gasped as she squeezed Dutch’s hand tighter. “Please don’t seek revenge for this. I don’t want him to hurt any of you. It was my fault.”

“No,” Dutch’s voice faltered as he stroked her hair, “none of this is your fault.”

She opened her eyes to look into his. “It’s not your fault either, love.”

Other than Annabelle’s quiet groans and whines, the room was silent after that. Hosea focused on the task at hand to keep his anger from spilling over, drawing a deep breath through his nose every so often to keep it in check. There were no words for the rage he felt towards Dutch. Annabelle’s revelation explained everything, from Dutch’s cautious behavior to his despondent mood. His anger ate away at him as he worked, and he knew Dutch could sense it. 

There was only so much Hosea and Susan could do, disinfecting and stitching up what they could. As Hosea stared at their work, his anger was momentarily stifled by his grief. While he hoped for the best, he knew Annabelle’s outcome looked bleak. The wound had been anything but clean, and he feared it wouldn’t take long for sepsis to set in. 

The next few days would be absolutely miserable, and there was nothing they could do about it.

After bandaging the wound and washing his hands off in a bucket of water, Hosea stiffly rose to his feet. He gestured for Dutch to follow, and the man hesitated before leaving Annabelle's side and following him out into the hall. There, they found both Arthur and John sitting on the floor just beside the door. Arthur had changed out of his blood-stained shirt, most likely thanks to Bessie. John, who had been leaning against Arthur, straightened himself with a start, and the two of them looked up at Dutch and Hosea. 

Arthur quickly stood as his eyes searched for hopeful news. “How is she? Can we see her?”

Hosea’s shoulders slumped as he studied the two of them. John had worried his lip raw, face tearstained and shirt wrinkled. Arthur, on the other hand, wore a tough facade. Yet it was thin, and Hosea saw right through it. “I’m afraid it doesn’t look good. Give Miss Grimshaw another minute before you head in.”

Arthur folded his arms across his chest and leaned against the wall, sinking to his place beside John once more.

Hosea led Dutch downstairs and stepped out into the cool summer night air. Once he heard the door shut behind Dutch, he turned around and faced him with a heated glare. 

“You killed his brother, Dutch?” he exclaimed. “What the hell were you thinking?” 

Dutch said nothing as he slowly sat in a chair, resting his elbows on his knees as he let his head fall into his hands.

“We have been out of Colm's reach for _two years!_” 

His gaze snapped up to meet Hosea’s. “He never stopped looking for us, Hosea! How the fuck do you think I ran into Duncan?” 

“And you thought the best way to deal with that was to _kill _him?” 

“I didn’t _mean _to!” he snapped. “He started talking about how he’d tortured Arthur, and I couldn’t take it. I couldn’t let him get off easy for that. You’re acting as if all of this is my fault!”

“But it _is, _Dutch!” he shouted. “Don't you see that? You killed Colm's brother, and because of that, he bided his time and waited for the right moment to strike. Annabelle’s life for Duncan’s.”

Dutch’s fury ignited at that, and he was on his feet in an instant, toppling his chair in the process. “_Don’t!_”

“You never think _anything _through!” he continued despite the warning as he jammed a finger into his chest. “You and Colm had a truce, and _you _were the one who dragged Arthur and the rest of us into that mess!”

He snagged Hosea by the collar of his shirt, roughly pulling him into his space and leaving hardly an inch between them. “You don’t think I know that?” he yelled. “Do you even know how many nights I lost sleep realizing I ain’t any good to _any _of you? Thinking that the only thing I’m good for is causing pain?” 

“Dutch—”

“The same thing happens, no matter how hard I try! You may not think I care, I know you don’t, but I do!” He drew a shaky breath, his anger dissipating to reveal the crushing sorrow underneath. “I _swear_ I do. And now one of the loves of my life is suffering and losing her life because of me.”

Hosea felt Dutch’s grip on his shirt loosen, and he swallowed back his ebbing anger to wrap his arms around him. The man nearly collapsed into his embrace, leaning against him as he clung to him. Dutch shook as he wept into his shirt, and Hosea held him tightly as he did, shedding his own tears as he rested his head against Dutch’s.

\--

It felt like an eternity to Arthur before Grimshaw finally allowed the two of them to go inside where Annabelle was. Bessie had joined them by then. She had sat on the floor in between them and had held them close to her. As they stepped into the room, John hid behind her, and Arthur felt his breath hitch when his eyes landed on Annabelle. 

She was pale, and the hair that framed her face was damp with sweat. Susan had changed her out of the bloodstained dress, dressing her instead in a loose blouse and skirt that made it difficult to tell just how dire the situation was. He swallowed as he walked over to her, and she opened her eyes halfway at the sound of his footsteps. Annabelle offered him a tired smile, brushing her fingers against the side of his face when he knelt beside the bed.

“You look awful,” she said.

Arthur forced a chuckle. “What’s new?”

She sighed, causing her to wince. “Don’t you dare blame yourself for any of this, Arthur.”

He lowered his gaze. “But—”

Annabelle took hold of his chin and forced him to meet her eyes. “I mean it.”

He swallowed. “You say that like…” 

She gave him a sympathetic look before studying him for a moment, her smile returning once more. “How is it that I’m just now seeing how much you’ve grown?”

Arthur felt a swell of emotion threaten to swallow him whole. A hand on his shoulder helped him resurface from the crashing wave of grief, and he looked up to see that it was Bessie. She was struggling to fight back her tears, and John watched on from behind her with wide eyes as he held onto her skirt. Arthur returned his gaze to Annabelle once more, offering her a tight smile as he took her hand in his. Yet, he didn’t dare to get his hopes too high. He had made that mistake one too many times in his life, and he wasn’t sure if his heart could bear another chasm formed out of another heartbreak. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welp ;; here we are
> 
> This one was a doozie to write ;; and if you're still reading after all this time, you get your own kudos <3 much love and appreciation for each and every one of you lovely people <3


	33. Goodbye, Goodbye

Sepsis wreaked havoc on Annabelle’s body for two torturous days, and it was only after those two days when it had finally decided it was through inflicting its misery, claiming her life and ripping her away from them all too quickly.

Arthur had watched on silently from a distance, close enough for Annabelle to know he was there, but far enough to give Dutch, Hosea, Susan, and Bessie the space they needed. When the room became too crowded, he had busied himself with chores and tasks, assisting when and where he could as they tried to make her comfortable. While Hosea had been realistic about her outcome from the start, Dutch had tried his hardest to change her fate. Yet, like trying to hold onto a fistful of sand, Annabelle’s life had slipped away in spite of his best efforts. 

Arthur would never forget the moment she passed, nor the days that had led up to it. The memories had been seared into his mind, permanently making their home beside the memory of his father’s hanging.

They buried her a little ways from where the other gravestones were, and Arthur couldn’t help but wonder if the family’s graves had been an omen from the start.

After that, Arthur did his best to make himself scarce. The void left in the wake of Annabelle’s death was unbearable. It made the house eerily quiet, even with John in it, and Arthur was convinced that it was in everyone’s best interest that he keep his distance when he could. While Annabelle had told him it wasn’t his fault, he couldn’t help but assume that the others, or at least Dutch, thought otherwise. They had every reason to, and keeping himself busy with other things helped distract him from his grief. Hosea had tried to reassure him that he was wrong about that, and how they didn’t blame him for what had happened, not even Dutch. Yet, Arthur remained unconvinced and did his best to stay out of Dutch’s sight as much as he could.

Hosea, meanwhile, had taken the lead in Dutch’s stead, deciding to shoulder whatever he could to keep the gang from falling apart. The younger outlaw was utterly devastated by the events that had unfolded, quickly becoming someone that Hosea hardly recognized. It was as if Dutch had locked away his emotions and threw out the key. He was quiet, a shell of who he used to be, and if Hosea was honest with himself, the new Dutch scared him. 

Dutch had taken to sleeping on the chesterfield instead of in his own room, and Hosea found that he couldn’t blame him. Yet, he refused to leave him alone despite the man insisting otherwise. It was a tight squeeze laying side by side, which often left Hosea lying on his back with his arms around Dutch as he lay on his side flush against him. They usually laid there in silence, and it wasn’t until the third night when Hosea finally decided to speak up. 

“I’m sorry for what I said, Dutch,”

He exhaled a quiet grunt, his eyes still closed. “It ain’t like you were wrong.”

“But I was,” he replied as he continued to stroke the raven black hair at his temple. “You have no control over Colm’s actions.”

“No, I only instigate them,” he scoffed bitterly.

Hosea furrowed his brow and wrapped his arms tighter around him. “I’m so sorry, Dutch.”

He was silent for a while before finally heaving a sigh. “So when are we gonna tell Arthur?” 

“About Colm?”

Dutch nodded. 

“The sooner, the better, but the boy can’t know that Colm used him to lure Annabelle,” he said. “It would devastate him, and he already blames himself.”

“He’s going to hate me,” he replied. “Knowing it was my doing that caused all this.”

“That isn’t true,”

“You don’t know that,” 

Hosea swallowed. Besides Bessie, Dutch was the only one who could call his bluffs, knew when his words were softer than the harsh reality that they sometimes tried to hide. “Maybe not, but I do know he cares about you.”

“Yes, cares _so much_ that he’s been avoiding me,” 

“He thinks we blame him for what happened, and the last thing he wants to do is cause any more pain.”

“And how did you find that one out?”

“I had the chance to speak to him yesterday, although I had to corner him like a spooked animal,”

Dutch snorted at that.

“I sat him down and chatted with him, asked him how he was doing,”

“Let me guess, he said he was fine,”

“He did, but I refused to settle for that line,”

He sighed and nestled his head underneath Hosea’s chin. “You’ve always had a knack for seeing through facades.” 

He hummed in agreement and was quiet for a moment as he soothingly rubbed Dutch’s arm. “So when are you going to give up yours?” 

While Hosea felt Dutch shake his head, he felt his breath hitch, followed by the growing shake of his shoulders. Hosea held him closer as the damn within Dutch broke, causing everything he was holding back to overflow and spill out. He whispered words of comfort to him as he felt the tears wet his neck and shirt, wishing he could do more than just hold him through his grief.

\--

“Hey, can I take Rosie into town to get Boadicea?” 

John blinked as he looked up at Arthur from where he sat on the porch step. It was the most words the outlaw had said to him since the day Annabelle passed, and it took him a moment to realize he’d even been spoken to. “Sure, can I come?”

“That horse can’t carry both of us. You know that.”

“Then borrow Hosea’s so I can ride with you,”

Arthur shook his head. “It ain’t safe.”

“Then why are _you _going!” he huffed.

He frowned at him, and for once, the forlorn look in his eye left. Frustration, however, quickly took its place, causing a deep crease to form between his brows. “I am _this close_,” he said as he held up his thumb and forefinger, leaving only half an inch between them for emphasis, “to saddling her up and riding into town _without _your permission! So I’m gonna ask you one more time, can I borrow her or not?” 

He sighed and muttered under his breath. “You’re a jerk!”

“What’s new?”

He folded his arms across his chest as he eyed him. “Alright, take her, but I know the rest of you are hiding something from me!”

Arthur didn’t bother to respond as he turned on his heel and headed for the barn. 

John folded his arms across his knees as he watched Arthur ride down the path to the main road, and it wasn’t until Copper joined him on the porch and licked his face when he realized he was scowling. He rubbed the coonhound’s ear as he settled beside him. Copper rested his head on his paws, heaving a sigh as Arthur disappeared out of their sight. 

“Don’t worry, Copper. He’ll come back.” Although John’s words were more for himself. He wasn’t used to Arthur’s new habit of disappearing for hours. It left him fearing for his safety, especially when he knew the others were hiding something about Annabelle’s death. From what he had gathered, it hadn’t been an accident, and it seemed to John that the others knew who had killed her.

John heaved a sigh, and he was contemplating finding something to do other than sit on the porch all day when he heard Bessie’s voice. He frowned as he looked up to find their bedroom window open. 

He knew better than to snoop, and he had never been good at _not_ getting caught doing it. Yet, the tone in Bessie’s voice was one he’d never heard her use before. Before he knew it, his curiosity had pulled him onto his feet, drawing him away from the porch and over to the corner of the house. 

John sat in the grass and leaned against the house as their voices became clearer, idly pulling at the tall blades as he listened. In a matter of seconds, he recognized that they were arguing, and the realization caused his frown to deepen. The two of them never argued, and it only spurred him on to listen closer.

“You lost her too, Hosea,” Bessie said. “Taking care of everyone else isn’t going to make that grief disappear.”

“What else do you want me to do? Wallow in our room and let the gang fall apart?”

“You’re acting as if you can fix everything, like you can shoulder everyone else’s grief at the expense of your health,”

“I said I’m _fine, _Bessie,”

“But you’re not! You spend your nights with Dutch, and your days trying to bear everyone else’s load,”

“As if I have a choice in the matter!” Hosea’s tone was sharp, causing John to tense despite where he was sitting. “If I do nothing, then—”

The room went silent, and the only thing John heard for a while was the soft tone of Bessie’s voice as she spoke indistinct words.

When Hosea spoke again, there was a tremble in his voice, and John was surprised he could even make out the words. “I’m _scared_, Bessie, of losing what little we have left.”

John rubbed his arm as he stared at the grass between his boots. He rarely felt guilty for eavesdropping or reading something that was none of his business, yet Hosea’s raw confession left him regretting his decision. From his perspective, Hosea was hardly ever fearful of anything, which left John wondering if he too should be worried about the fate of their group.

While he had fought tooth and nail against the gang at first, he couldn’t imagine life without them now. They were the closest thing he’d ever had to a family, and the thought that he might lose everything he ever wanted was enough to steal the air from his lungs.

He drew a shaky breath and nervously glanced at the path that led away from their house, clinging to the hope that Arthur wouldn’t be the next person to leave him. 

\--

Arthur looked up from where he sat on his bedroll to watch the towering, billowing clouds move across the sky. Boadicea freely grazed several paces away, her tail swishing side-to-side to ward off the flies that annoyed her. Despite the nuisance, she seemed to enjoy the small meadow just as much as he did. It was nestled within a grove of trees and provided the only solace he could find as of late.

It had been just over a week since they’d lost Annabelle, and he heaved a sigh at the thought as he withdrew his journal from his satchel. He thumbed through it, searching for the next blank page, but paused as he caught a flash of Annabelle’s handwriting. 

He stared at the corner of the page with wide eyes before drawing a deep breath. Arthur steeled himself as he decided to open it, reading the beautiful script that flowed across the page in the few short verses of a poem she had written almost a month ago. The memory caused Arthur to swallow, trying and failing to hold back the sudden swell of emotions. 

He closed the journal as he let his head fall into his hands. A puff of hair by his ear caused him to lift his head to find Boadicea there, and she settled down beside him and nuzzled his face. Arthur hugged her neck, burying his face into her as he cried.

After a while, he decided to lean against her as he reopened his journal to draw. He started by sketching Boadicea before penciling in the trees surrounding them and adding the clusters of wildflowers among the tall grass. 

His eyes lifted from the page to study them more closely from where he sat. They were beautiful, their bright colors peppering the vibrant meadow. The sight of them had Arthur considering an idea, and he set his journal and pencil aside to meticulously pick a handful of them. When he’d picked only the best, he gingerly placed them inside his saddlebag and packed up his small camp before heading back to the house.

Arthur, however, nearly doubled back when he saw Dutch sitting on the front porch. Doing so, however, would be useless. The man had already spotted him, lifting his head from his hand and straightening his posture. Arthur stared at the path in front of him to avoid meeting his gaze as he neared the house. He tried to delay the inevitable by taking extra care of Boadicea in the barn, and once he’d finished, he carefully withdrew the flowers from his saddlebag to put them in his satchel. 

Dutch was on his feet by the time he made it back to the porch, and Arthur tensed as he walked towards him, bracing himself for whatever was coming. He hadn’t been home for three days. It had been unintentional, and it had slipped his mind to tell any of them that he was even heading out in the first place.

He stared at his boots as the older outlaw drew nearer. “Dutch, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—”

The tight embrace that enveloped him caught him off guard. He stiffened within Dutch’s hug, his eyes going wide before he forced himself to relax. Dutch only held him closer, bringing one hand up to hold the back of his head. Arthur let his chin rest on his shoulder, eventually bringing his arms up to return the embrace.

“We were worried about you, son,”

The statement confused Arthur, and he said nothing as Dutch finally let go of him.

“Where’ve you been?” he asked as he rested his hands on Arthur’s shoulders.

“Nowhere in particular,” he said with a shrug. “I picked some flowers for her today.”

Dutch’s brow furrowed, the sorrow behind his eyes becoming clearer. A thick silence settled between them, and Dutch only squeezed his shoulder before walking away.

Arthur went straight to his room after placing the flowers at Annabelle’s grave, and he couldn’t help the sigh that escaped him when he found John lying on his bed. The boy was practically moping, curled in on himself as he refused to acknowledge Arthur’s return. Arthur, however, didn’t mind the quiet as he hung his satchel on a nail in the wall. 

The quiet didn’t last long before John spoke up. “Are you gonna leave?” 

Arthur wrinkled his nose at the question as he turned to face John. “What?”

“Are you plannin’ on leaving?”

“Where the hell would I go, John?” he scoffed. 

He lifted one shoulder in a shrug.

Arthur rolled his eyes. “Of course I ain’t leaving! What kind of a question is that, anyway?” 

“Then why ain’t you ever around anymore?”

His eyes lowered to the floor as he rubbed the back of his neck. With a sigh, he made his way over to John and sat on the bed. “I guess I just lose track of time.”

“That didn’t ever happen before,”

“No, guess it didn’t,”

What was left unsaid hung heavily in the air between them. The quietest hitch in John’s breathing finally broke the silence, and Arthur wordlessly gestured for him to scoot over to make enough room for him to lay down.

“She wouldn’t want you to leave,” John said quietly.

“Are you speaking for Annabelle or for yourself?”

He shrugged.

Arthur replied with a noncommittal grunt as he stared at the ceiling. “Well, I ain’t going anywhere. We’ll make it through this, John.” He assured him as he wrapped an arm around his shoulders. “That’s what she’d want.”

John nodded. “Just…please don’t leave me.”

“I won’t,” he said. “Promise.”

\--

Dutch eyed the map in front of them, barely registering Hosea’s words as he spoke. Everyone had agreed that it was best that they move, make their home in a new city, and start fresh. Although, while Hosea had given him several options, he had yet to give his input on where they should go. He didn’t trust himself to make a decision that was best for the gang, and he was doubtful that he could even keep them safe anymore. He’d always feared he was simply a large shadow cast by a tiny tree, and he felt that fear deeper now than ever before.

“Dutch?”

He lifted his head from his hand to look up at Hosea. “What?”

He pinched the bridge of his nose from where he sat beside him and sighed. “You didn’t hear a single word of what I said, did you?”

“I’m sorry, Hosea,” he replied as he shook his head. “It’s probably best that you make the decision, anyway.”

Hosea studied him for a long moment, still unused to Dutch being so unsure of himself. “Are you sure?”

“Positive,”

“Alright,” he sighed as he rolled up the map. “How does St. Louis sound? There’s enough going on in that city to keep anyone from paying too much attention to us. It’s smaller than Chicago, but certainly nothing to bat an eye at. Gives us plenty of options to replenish our funds to start saving up for that home out west.”

“I trust you,” he replied. “If you think St. Louis is the right call, we’ll go there.”

“I do,”

“Then that settles it,” he said as he straightened himself. “We’ll gather our things and head out when everyone’s ready.”

“Do you want me to tell the others?”

“Please?”

Hosea nodded and gave his shoulder a comforting squeeze before leaving him to share the news.

\--

It was two days later when they began their journey to St. Louis, and it took them a day's worth of traveling to reach the outskirts of the city. They set up camp amidst the tall trees, and Arthur didn’t mind helping the others with their tents and unloading their belongings from the wagon. It helped keep his mind off everything they’d left behind in Springfield, and while he would miss the home they’d tried to make, he was oddly glad to have a temporary canvas ceiling once again.

John, however, felt differently, and of course, he wasn’t keen on keeping his opinion to himself. It was Arthur who had to hear his whining more than anyone else, and by the end of the week, he found he couldn’t handle John’s complaining anymore. 

He had finally found some peace and quiet by a brook at the edge of camp when he heard John make his way over. Arthur sighed and tried to ignore him as he sat down on the rock beside him, dangling his legs over the edge and letting them hang just above the water. 

“I’m bored,” he huffed.

“Congratulations,”

John frowned at him. “Ain’t you bored too?”

“No,”

“Liar,”

Arthur rolled his eyes before a crooked grin twisted his lips. “If you’re so bored, there’s a lake not too far from here, and the weather’s _just_ right for a swimming lesson.”

“That’s not funny!”

“Sure it is! You just can’t take a joke.”

The comment earned him a hard shove, which only made Arthur more amused, chuckling quietly as he straightened himself.

“If you’re so bored, why don’t you get a job or somethin’ in the city,” Arthur suggested.

“A job?” 

“Sure! You could be a paperboy.” 

“_Hell_ no,”

“How about a chimney sweep? You’d be great at that with how skinny you are.”

“Are you _trying_ to get me killed?”

He withdrew a cigarette from his shirt pocket with a scoff. “Trust me, if that were the case, you’d already be dead.”

John stiffened at that, and if Arthur had been in a better mood, he would’ve felt guiltier for saying such a thing. The kid was quiet for a moment before finally speaking up again. “Why don’t we just rob or swindle someone?”

Arthur shook his head as he took a long drag on his cigarette. “We ain’t been in Missouri for more than two weeks, and you want to rob someone? Do you _want _the law on us?”

“Of course not!” John snapped.

“Then why don’t you start thinkin’ before speaking, hm?” 

He studied him with narrowed eyes. “Why are you so damn sour all of a sudden?” 

“Maybe if a certain someone stopped being my second shadow, I’d be a little cheerier,”

John scowled at him as he stood. “You’re an asshole!”

“Takes one to know one,”

“I’m gonna tell Hosea that you’re being a jerk!” 

“You won’t,” he said flatly.

He hesitated, caught in his own lie. Since Annabelle’s passing, John had started going out of his way to be less of a burden to the others. It was partly the reason why he’d been clinging to Arthur more. The others had enough on their plate, and while Arthur had promised to never leave him, there was still a whisper of doubt that told him the others were more inclined to do so.

For once, he had nothing to say. He simply watched Arthur as he smoked with his back toward him before heading back to camp. While it had been unintentional, he crossed paths with Hosea on his way to his tent. The older man paused as he stood in John’s way, and as he tried to walk around him, Hosea stopped him with a hand on his shoulder. 

“John? Is everything okay?”

He shrugged as he kept his eyes lowered, choosing to stare at Hosea’s vest rather than meeting his eyes. 

“Is it Arthur?” 

Another shrug.

Hosea offered him a small smile as he patted his shoulder. “Just give him some time. He usually gets this way before his birthday.”

John blinked at that, finally lifting his gaze to meet Hosea’s. “His birthday?” 

He nodded. “He isn’t fond of it, and it usually dampens his mood for a few days.”

“Why?” 

“He’s never said,”

He frowned in thought, glancing over his shoulder in Arthur’s direction. He could just make him out among the trees, and he continued to stare as Hosea made his way over to the cookfire. 

\--

“Why do you hate your birthday?” 

Arthur frowned, lifting his hat from his eyes as he stared up at John from where he lay on the ground. He squinted as his eyes adjusted to the bright sunlight filtering through the trees before scowling at the kid. “I swear I’d have a fortune if I had a dollar for every time you disturbed my peace and quiet.” 

John crossed his arms over his chest, and the determined look in his eye had Arthur sighing as he realized he wouldn’t leave him alone until he had answers. 

“I don’t hate it,”

“You act like you do,”

He huffed as he lowered his hat to cover his face once more. “It just ain’t that special, is all. Now leave me alone.”

John frowned and snatched Arthur’s black gambler, hastily taking a few steps back before Arthur could grab his ankle.

_“Marston!”_ he snarled as he scrambled to get to his feet. “Give that back!”

“You have to tell me why, first!” he called over his shoulder as he started to run. 

“I’m gonna kill you!” Arthur hollered as he gave chase. John, however, was nimble and had less weight to carry as he ran. Arthur swore under his breath as he ran after him, following him as they left their camp. He only stopped when John rounded a boulder and came to a stop on the other side of it. 

Arthur glared at him as he panted. “I ain’t in the mood to play any games, Marston!”

“Then answer the question, _Morgan!_” he retorted. 

“For crying out loud!” he snapped. “You’re the brattiest little shit I’ve ever met!”

John smirked at him as he smugly placed Arthur’s hat on his head. “Takes one to know one!”

Hearing his words fired back at him left Arthur fuming. “I’m gonna wring your little neck!”

“No you won’t!” 

“You’re gonna wish I did!”

“Just tell me!” he huffed. “What’s the big deal?” 

Arthur glared at him as he mulled over his options before finally choosing to give in. It wasn’t worth the energy, and he was through with playing John’s little game. “That's just it. It ain't a big deal! It never was, and my father was determined to beat it into my head that it was a waste of time, a luxury that’s _earned_, not given.”

John stared at him for a long moment with wide eyes as he pulled the hat off his head. “Arthur—"

“_Don’t_,” he snapped. “I don’t need anyone’s pity. Just give me my damn hat back!”

His eyes flitted to the black gambler in his hand before returning to Arthur, studying him as he tossed it over. Arthur caught it with ease, turning to walk away as he placed it on his head and leaving John only more confused by him. 

In John’s mind, the only thing special about that hat was that Arthur’s father had owned it before him. It was far too worn to sell it for anything, and it left John wondering why Arthur insisted on keeping it, let alone value it. From what he had gathered, Arthur’s father was a cruel man, and it was puzzling that Arthur was so determined to hold onto something of his when he had Dutch and Hosea. 

Trying to sort out the enigma that was Arthur’s reasoning made John’s head hurt, and he heaved a sigh as he trailed after Arthur back to camp.

\--

Arthur watched the trapper in front of him as he eyed the pelts he had gotten over the last few days. His weathered face pinched together as he studied them, looking each one over for any blemishes as he assessed the quality. The man took his time with each pelt, and Arthur found his patience dwindling quickly. He had taken the utmost care tracking deer and rabbits that would bring in the most profit. Yet the way the man’s narrowed eyes shifted between him and the furs had him feeling on edge. He had put a lot of hard work in, and it seemed to him that the man underestimated his ability to skin an animal. 

The man sighed as he set the rabbit pelt he was examining on the table. “I’ll give you four bucks for everything, son.”

“_Four?_ Those are at _least _worth nine dollars!”

He gave him a warning look. “I’ll give you six, and that’s the highest I’ll go. I ain’t got time for your whining, so take it or leave it!” 

Arthur glared at him before giving in with a huff. It was better than nothing, and he’d already spent far more time away from camp than he should’ve. There was also no telling where the next closest trapper was, and he begrudgingly took the measly six dollars before mounting Boadicea. 

The ride back from the outskirts of St. Louis took Arthur almost four hours, and the sky had just started to darken by the time he returned. After hitching Boadicea to their makeshift hitching post, he made his way over to Hosea. The older outlaw had seated himself by the campfire, and he watched Arthur as he heavily sat down beside him.

“Long day?”

He nodded. “Don’t ever see the trapper by the train station.”

His eyes crinkled in amusement at that. “Did you try negotiating?” 

“He wasn’t the negotiating type,” he muttered. “At least not with me, and I didn’t feel like arguing with him.”

Hosea only hummed knowingly in response. 

Arthur sighed and dug into his pocket for the money he’d earned before holding it out to him. “Here, it ain’t much but it’s something.”

He furrowed his brow. “What’s this for?”

“The gang, I overheard you talkin’ with Susan about how tight things are,”

“Arthur, it’s not your job to worry about finances. Leave that to us, okay?”

He shook his head. “No, I insist. Besides, I’m old enough to start contributing more.”

Hosea sighed, reluctantly taking the money from him. “Thank you, Arthur.”

“Of course, it’s the least I can do,”

“I also have a little something for you,” 

Arthur frowned. “Hosea, you know I don’t like making a big deal out of my birthday.”

“I know,” he replied as he reached into his satchel, “but you’re worth it.”

He groaned as he gave Hosea a look, but obliged him by taking the small package wrapped in brown paper. “We don’t have the money for gifts.” 

“I have a small stash saved for special occasions,” he said with a wink. “John also told me why you don’t like to celebrate your birthday.”

He scowled at the revelation. “That little brat!”

Hosea couldn’t help but laugh, and Arthur had just finished tearing open the paper to reveal a new journal when John pounced on him from behind. He swore under his breath as he nearly fell off the log he was sitting on, and he tried to shrug him off with no success. 

“Happy birthday, Arthur!” he exclaimed as he hugged his neck.

“Get off of me!” he grunted. Arthur felt someone else ruffle his hair and managed to look up past John’s arms to find it was Dutch. Susan and Bessie had also joined them with warm smiles on their faces, and he swallowed as he felt the brick walls he’d built over the last few weeks begin to crumble again. As John finally released him (only after Arthur insisted that he couldn’t breathe), Bessie gave him a candy bar as she led the others in singing “Happy Birthday” to him. 

While the gesture was small, it meant the world to Arthur, and there was no holding back the smile that pulled at the corners of his mouth. He found it dampening the guilt he felt and soothed the pain he’d been carrying. The moment was enough to help him set aside the things of the past, and it was a gentle reminder of who his real family was. His father was long gone, and while none of them were perfect, Arthur was overwhelmingly grateful for the love and care they showered him with.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope everyone had a wonderful time over the holidays!
> 
> Thank you all for your patience once again! Life is still super busy for me, and 2020 is already carrying into the new year with its shenanigans 🤣 There's a lot going on rn, so updates may be a bit farther apart than usual. Also I apologize if this chapter didn't flow as well as the others <3
> 
> Thank you again for taking the time to read this lengthy fic <3 I know I've said this already, but I truly do appreciate each and every one of you! ;; Your support makes all the difference!
> 
> Also the title is from the song "All is Well (Goodbye, Goodbye" by Radical Face
> 
> Fun Fact: the tune for the song "Happy Birthday" is from the song "Goodmorning to You", which was used for a Kindergarten class in Kentucky in 1893. However, using it for birthday celebrations didn't start until 1912, but I'm ignoring that bit because imagining the gang singing to Arthur was too cute to pass up. 🤣


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